THINGS' 
THAT  ARE 


FL.W.  as> 

KAUFFMAN 


THE   THINGS   THAT  ARE   CESAR'S 


THE  THINGS  THAT 
ARE  CAESAR'S    +   * 

A  NOVEL 


By 
Reginald   Wright    Kauffman 

Author  of  Jarvii  of  Harvard 


New    York 

D.   Appleton    and     Company 
i  902 


COPYRIGHT,  1902 
BY  D.   APPLETON   AND   COMPANY 

All  rights  reserved 


Published  September,  1902 


SRLB 

URO 


TO 
JAMES  PRESTON 

AND 

THORNTON  SHERBURNE  HARDY 


2130776 


"  Brother,  brother,  we  are  both  in  the  wrong." 
The  Beggar's  Opera 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTXR  PAOK 

I.  Our  OP  THE  SHADOW 1 

II.  THE  HEART  OF  THE  WORLD     ....  18 

III.  ENTER  A  GIRL 83 

IV.  A  LEGATE  OF  THE  PRESS 51 

V.  IN  THE  STATE  OF  DENMARK      ....  62 

VI.  DOCTORS  DISAGREE 80 

VII.  AFTER-DINNER  CRIMINOLOGY      ....  98 

VIII.  AFTER-DINNER  SENTIMENT         ....  114 
IX.  THE  USE  OF  A  DAUGHTER        ....  126 

X.  A  MODERN  BANQUO'S  GHOST    ....  136 

XI.  EXIT  A  REPORTER 149 

XII.  THE  BETTER  PART  OF  VALOUR        .        .        .160 

XIII.  SIR  ORACLE  RICKER 175 

XIV.  CUPID'S  COUPE" 183 

XV.  THE  DEAD  SPEAK 192 

XVI.  A  DECLARATION  OF  DEPENDENCE     .        .        .  210 

XVII.  A  DECLARATION  OF  INDEPENDENCE  .        .        .  223 

XVIII.  EXIT  A  BANK  CLERK 240 

XIX.  "SOMETHING   TO  DO" 257 

XX.  CROSS- PURPOSES 275 

XXI.  THE  Kiss  OF  DEATH 288 

XXII.  THE  GRATITUDE  OF  KINGS       .        .        .        .809 

XXIII.  PROSPEROUS  ART 822 

vii 


THE  THINGS  THAT  ARE  (LESAR'S 


OUT  OF  THE   SHADOW 

WHEN  they  had  reached  the  little  shed 
that  did  duty  for  depot,  John  Haig  turned 
about  and  looked  back  at  the  walls  of  the 
prison  where  he  had  spent  the  last  ten  years 
of  his  life.  The  road  led  straight  upward 
to  the  huge  gate,  a  broad  white  highway  be- 
tween dun  autumn  fields.  The  red  sand- 
stone ramparts  shone  almost  pleasantly  in 
the  early  morning  light,  and  the  slate  roof  of 
a  single  little  guard-house  caught  gaily  the 
rays  of  the  late  October  sun.  There  was  not 
a  human  creature  in  sight  about  the  place; 
nothing  to  give  hint  of  the  busy  black  life 
teeming  within.  To  the  unknowing  eye  the 
penitentiary  might  have  seemed  a  newly  de- 
serted fortress  drowsing,  even  at  this  hour, 

1 


THE  THINGS  THAT  AKE  CESAR'S 

in  the  Indian  Summer's  heat.  But  John  Haig 
knew  and  shuddered. 

The  intoxication  of  his  first  draught  of 
the  world's  free  air  had  not  yet  had  time 
to  mount  to  his  head.  He  could  not  yet 
realize  his  new  liberty,  and  the  prison  pallor 
was  still  as  clearly  on  his  soul  as  on  his 
face. 

"  I  can't  help  it,  Uncle  Stephen,"  he  apolo- 
gized to  the  man  beside  him.  "  I'm  the  least 
sentimental  of  men,  and  the  place  doesn't 
look  unfriendly — from  the  outside.  But  I 
can't  help  it." 

The  sweet,  weak  face  of  the  bishop  re- 
laxed its  calm,  his  mild  eyes  blinked  under 
the  shadow  of  his  resetted  imitation  shovel- 
hat,  but  his  oddly  ascetic  mouth  drew  tight 
above  his  patriarchal  beard.  He  put  a 
kindly  hand  upon  the  still  broad  and  straight, 
if  wasted,  shoulders  of  the  young-old  man 
beside  him. 

"  You  must  help  it,"  he  said.  "  You  have 
paid  the  price,  John,  and  earned  forgetful- 
ness.  How  often  must  I  tell  you  that  your 
penance  was  to  the  full  ?  '  If  we  confess  our 

2 


OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 

sins,  God  is  faithful  and  just — '  You  know 
the  passage." 

Haig  regarded  him  with  a  strange  ex- 
pression on  a  face  which  a  decade  of  disci- 
pline had  left  well-nigh  expressionless. 

"  I  have  thought  of  nothing  else,"  he  said, 
"  for  ten  years." 

"I  know,  I  know,"  the  bishop  answered 
hurriedly.  "  It  was  my  recalling  it,  my  coun- 
selling it,  that  brought — that  brought  you 
here.  And  you  see  that  I  was  right." 

"  Yes,  I  see  that  you  were  right — now." 

"  Six  years  ago,"  continued  the  bishop, 
"you  said  bitterly  that  the  world  had  for- 
gotten you.  I  told  you  to  be  of  good  heart; 
that,  if  you  would  be,  the  day  would  come 
when  you  would  thank  God  for  the  world's 
short  memory.  Well,  John,  the  world  has 
forgotten  you  and  this  is  the  day." 

The  released  convict  did  not  reply,  and 
Bishop  Osgood's  profession,  which  had 
taught  him  so  few  things  of  practical  worth, 
had  at  least  impressed  upon  him  too  deeply 
the  value  of  silence  to  allow  him  just  then 
to  force  the  note.  Instead,  he  contented  him- 

3 


THE  THINGS  THAT  AEE  CAESAR'S 

self  with  regarding,  unostentatiously,  the 
white  face  of  his  nephew  while  Haig's  daz- 
zled eyes  gazed  absently  up  the  dancing  per- 
spective of  the  tracks. 

White  indeed  was  the  face.  In  fact,  it 
was  the  strange  pallor  of  the  skin  that,  as  if 
somehow  trying  to  shun,  all  the  more  strik- 
ingly attracted,  attention.  For  it  was  the 
pallor  that  catches  the  eye  of  even  the  igno- 
rant beholder  by  the  subtle  furtiveness  of 
its  character.  And  yet,  beyond  this,  there 
was.  nothing  furtive  about  the  man.  The 
high  forehead,  the  features  all  made  of  firm 
straight  lines,  the  mouth  habitually  set  and 
square,  the  clear  gray  eyes,  even  the  aggres- 
sive bristling  hair,  if  some  of  them  spoke  of 
a  man  of  vain  imaginings,  all  told  of  faith 
of  that  implicit  sort  which  at  once  translates 
its  visions  into  actions.  In  those  surround- 
ings, and  with  the  bishop's  last  words  still 
trembling  in  the  air,  it  was  but  too  clear  that 
this  was  a  man  who  firmly  believed  that  he 
had  paid  society's  own  high  price  for  his 
otherwise  forbidden  pleasure  and  was  once 
more  quits  with  the  world. 

4 


OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW. 

Standing  there,  however,  the  generally 
immobile  features  underwent  a  slight  change. 
The  delicate  nostrils  expanded,  the  broad 
chest  heaved,  the  gray  eyes  glistened.  The 
intoxication  was  mounting  at  last  from  the 
novel  cup  of  liberty. 

At  that  moment  the  morning  stillness  was 
rent  by  a  piercing  shriek ;  with  a  hideous  roar 
the  train  dashed  upon  them  and  came  to  a 
protesting  stop  just  as  the  young  man  start- 
ed violently  into  the  arms  of  his  guide. 

"  You  see,"  he  ruefully  explained,  "  it's 
all  so  new  to  me." 

They  got  aboard,  the  bishop  leading  the 
way  to  a  compartment  in  one  of  the  parlor- 
cars.  As  they  settled  themselves  there,  Haig 
looked  about  with  all  the  curiosity  of  a  child. 
Then  there  dawned  upon  him  the  sense  of 
their  secure  privacy. 

His  uncle  noted  this. 

« "We're  quite  alone  here,  you  observe," 
he  said.  "  I  thought  that,  just  at  first,  it 
would  be — pleasantest." 

"  You  arranged  for  it  ?  " 

The  bishop  nodded. 
5 


THE  THINGS  THAT  AEE  C^SAK'S 

"  Then  I  owe  you  this  as  well.  I  wish 
you  could  understand  how  much  I  appreciate 
your  wonderful  thoughtfulness  in  every  de- 
tail of  to-day,  sir." — Haig  still  spoke  much  as 
a  boy. — "  There  seems  to  be  nothing  you've 
forgotten.  Even  you  yourself  can't  guess 
all  the  horrors  you've  saved  me  from." 

The  elder  man  raised  a  protesting  hand. 

"  I  think  I  guessed  some  of  it,"  he  replied. 

"  But  you  couldn't  guess  it  all.  It's  not," 
Haig  hurried  to  correct  himself,  "  that  I'm 
afraid  to  face  men.  I've  served  my  full 
term ;  I've  taken  my  punishment.  But  you've 
made  the  end  as  easy  as  you  made  the  be- 
ginning hard.  You  saved  me  all  the  vile 
associations,  all  the  loathsome  details,  that 
must  make  leaving  such  a  place  as  hard  as 
going  into  it  and  much  harder  than  staying 
there." 

"I'm  glad  you  haven't  forgotten.  I'm 
glad  that  you  said  that  about  my  making  it 
difficult  at  the  start,"  the  bishop  took  him  up. 
"  For  it  brings  us  to  the  point  at  which  I 
wanted  most  to  arrive.  My  boy,  I'm  not 
going  to  refer  to  this  thing  again,  but  for  just 

6 


OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 

that  reason — in  order,  that  is,  to  show  you 
why  it  will  not  be  necessary  again  to  refer  to 
it — I  want  once  and  for  all  to  make  my  posi- 
tion clear  to  you." 

He  coughed  uneasily  and  looked  at  his 
nephew  from  under  the  protecting  shovel-hat, 
which,  if  he  could  help  it,  he  never  removed. 
But  Haig  met  him  fearlessly,  taking  it  all, 
rather  disconcertingly,  as  so  much  a  matter 
of  course. 

"  I  understand,"  he  replied. 

"  Well,  then,"  said  the  bishop,  "  this  is  it, 
and  I  sha'n't  mince  words:  When  I  first 
learned  of  your  sin  I  had  the  natural  im- 
pulse to  wish  it  all  to  be  kept  secret — to 
have  it  covered  up  and  hidden.  It  was,  I 
say,  but  natural  that  I  should  not  want  the 
only  child  of  my  own  wife's  dead  brother 
publicly  to  be  pronounced  a  felon  and  to  go, 
a  common  criminal,  from  dock  to  jail.  I  was 
only  a  parish  priest  then,  and  I  told  myself 
that,  in  my  humble  position,  I  could  be  acting 
from  no  selfish  motive  if  I  did  everything  in 
my  power  to  hush  the  matter  up.  However 
much  noise  it  might  have  made,  it  could  never 

7 


THE  THINGS  THAT  ABE  CAESAR'S 

have  reached  my  little  corner  of  the  world. 
I  was  sitting  in  my  study — I  remember  the 
night  so  well!  I  couldn't  think  of  going  to 
bed  with  my  wife's  dear  flesh  and  blood  in 
such  agony  so  many  miles  away  from  me.  I 
resolved  to  start  East  in  the  morning  and  to 
do  everything  in  my  power — and  it  turned 
out  that  it  would  have  been  easy  enough — 
to  keep  you  from  the  hands  of  the  law." 

As  he  progressed,  Bishop  Osgood  lost  a 
great  deal  of  his  hesitancy,  and  it  would  soon 
have  been  clear  to  the  unprejudiced  beholder 
that  he  did  not  altogether  disrelish  his  part. 

"With  that  thought,"  he  pursued,  "I 
stood  up  to  go  to  my  room  and  pack  my 
valise.  And  then,  just  as  I  put  my  hand  on 
the  door,  I  remembered  the  words  of  our 
blessed  Saviour :  *  Render  to  Caesar  the 
things  that  are  Caesar's,  and  to  God  the 
things  that  are  God's.'  I  sat  up  for  the 
whole  night  and  thought  it  all  out.  I  have 
always,  I  am  thankful  to  say,  lived  a  life  of 
ideals,  not  of  material  concessions.  I  saw  at 
once,  and  clearly,  that  the  protection  I  had 
thought  to  offer  my  wife  was  only  a  more 

8 


OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 

subtle  form  of  selfishness.  And  then  I 
thought  of  the  duty  I  owed  to  you.  I  was  a 
minister  of  the  Gospel  and  your  aunt's  hus- 
band. You  had  done  a  great  moral  wrong; 
you  must  purge  yourself  morally.  You  had 
sinned,  too,  against  society;  you  must  make 
the  reparation  society  demanded.  In  my 
position,  it  was  my  evident  duty  to  make 
this  plain  to  you.  I  don't  think  I  was  a  mere 
meddler.  I  was  sincere,  and  the  result  will 
show  that  I  was  right." 

Haig  was  looking  straight  before  him. 

"  You  were  right,"  he  assented. 

"  I  came,"  the  bishop  went  on,  "  and  you 
know  the  result.  I  showed  you  what  I  be- 
lieved to  be  your  duty.  Society  had  said 
such  a  crime  merited  such  a  penalty.  That 
penalty  you  must  pay.  I  could  not  com- 
pound a  felony.  I  could  not  allow  you  to 
compound  a  felony  with  yourself.  The  doc- 
trine of  penance  is  as  sound  as  it  is  old. 
."Well,  we  have  both  rendered  unto  Csesar  the 
things  that  are  his  due,  and  to  God  what 
belongs  to  God." 

The  old  man's  voice  trembled  a  bit  as 
2  9 


THE  THINGS  THAT  AEE  CESAR'S 

he  concluded — he  really  meant  every  word 
of  it — but  in  Haig's  face  there  was  only  high 
resolve. 

"Uncle  Stephen,"  he  said,  "I'm  glad  of 
it.  I  am  glad  I  did  it.  You  don't  know  how 
much  I  admire  and  thank  you." 

"I  knew  it  would  be  so,"  the  bishop 
answered. 

"  It  was  so,"  Haig  assured  him,  "  almost 
from  the  start.  Anything  was  good  then,  so 
that  it  was  an  end.  Anything  was  better 
than  the  hideous  suspense,  the  agony  of  re- 
morse, the  fear  of  facing  acquaintances  with 
— with  all  this  against  me.  I  couldn't  have 
faced  them.  I  see  now  that  I  couldn't.  Some 
word  of  it  would  have  been  sure  to  leak  out, 
and  I'd  have  imagined  whispers  wherever 
I  went,  and  so  I'd  have  gone  only  one  way- 
downhill.  But  you  brought  me  altogether  a 
certainty,  a  comfort,  a  chance  of  expiation 
and  a  place  to  hide  my  shame.  It  was  a  re- 
lief— oh,  you  can't  dream  what  a  relief  it 
was  when  the  gates  shut  behind  me ! " 

Again  the  bishop  touched  him  gently. 

"  I  don't  pretend  it  was  a  pleasant  place," 
10 


OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 

Haig  kept  it  up,  already  speaking  as  one 
who  recounts  vanished  things.  "I  don't 
pretend  that.  But  it  was  away  from  every 
one — every  one.  That  alone  was  so  much 
that  I  didn't  seem  to  feel  those  first  indig- 
nities— the  stripping  and  measuring,  the 
bath,  the  barber-shop,  and  the  clothes.  And 
at  the  worst  there  was  always  the  hard  work, 
and  at  the  last  your  own  counsel  and  the 
good  chaplain's,  until  at  length  I  saw  that  I 
had  performed  the  act  of  atonement  and 
would  come  out,  as  you  and  he  said,  rehabili- 
tated and  square." 

"  You  have  paid  to  the  uttermost  far- 
thing," the  bishop  repeated.  "  There  was 
no  mercy  asked  of  the  court  and  none  was 
granted." 

Haig  reflected. 

"But  have  I  paid  in  full?  Havel?"  He 
played  upon  the  question  with  all  the  fervor 
of  the  accustomed  zealot.  "  Should  you  have 
come  for  me  to-day,  for  instance,  and  ar- 
ranged," he  waved  his  hand  about  their 
stuffy  compartment,  and  concluded,  "  ar- 
ranged all  this?  Should  you  have  spared 
11 


THE  THINGS  THAT  AEE  C^SAK'S 

me  the  coarse  clothes  and  the  vile  shoes  they 
give  a  man  when  he  leaves  a  jail? " 

The  bishop  shook  his  head  instinctively. 

"  I  would  not  use  that  word,"  he  ven- 
tured. 

"Jail?  Why  not?  It's  all  in  line  with 
your  own  doctrine,  you  know." 

"Yes,  yes,  to  be  sure.  No  doubt  you're 
right.  Of  course  you're  right  there.  But  in 
these  surroundings —  However,  that's  not 
the  point,  is  it?  Rest  assured,  my  poor  boy, 
upon  my  word — and  you've  taken  it  all  along 
thus  far — that  you  have  paid,  as  I  tell  you 
again,  to  the  full.  Now,  that's  all  settled," 
he  pursued  with  a  sigh  of  fatuous  relief. 
"  What  we  must  talk  of  now  is  your  future. 
You  know,  John,  my  own  life  and  your  Aunt 
Katherine's  have  been  much  changed  since 
— that  is  to  say,  in  the  last  several  years. 
From  a  poor  Western  clergyman  I  have  come 
to  be  the  head  of  a  wealthy  diocese  in  what 
is  now  one  of  the  most  important  of  the  three 
or  four  really  great  Eastern  cities." 

Haig's  eyes  were  all  expectancy. 

"Of  course  I  know  that,  sir,"  he  said, 
12 


OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 

"  and  I  am  sure,"  he  added,  "  that  there 
couldn't  be  a  better  man  for  the  place,  or 
one  who  more  deserved  it." 

Bishop  Osgood  was  human  enough  to  be 
pleased  with  any  form  of  gratitude. 

"  Tut,  tut,"  he  however  replied.  "  I  shall 
do  my  best.  I  always  have  done  it;  that  is 
all.  Well,  as  I  was  saying,  for  three  years 
now  I've  had  this  place.  All  that  time,  I  may 
say,  we've  been  laying  our  plans  for  you.  Of 
course,  I  have  indicated  to  you  what  they 
were.  We  have  influential  friends  there,  and 
I  can  trust  you  now,  John,  as  I  could  trust 
myself,  not  to  abuse  your  opportunities." 

The  bishop  was  fairly  launched.  He  set- 
tled back  in  his  seat  and  proceeded  to  outline 
the  life  that  he  proposed  for  his  charge. 
Presented  as  his  nephew,  John's  way  would 
be  comparatively  clear.  They  were  living  in 
a  city  far  enough  removed  from  the  scene  of 
Haig's  crime  and  punishment.  The  expia- 
tion having  been  made,  there  was  no  need  of 
the  fact  ever  coming  forward  to  dishearten 
him.  To  his  native  cleverness,  honesty  and 
hard  work  need  alone  be  added  for  the 
13 


THE  THINGS  THAT  ARE  CESAR'S 

achievement  of  all  the  requisite  success,  and 
these  qualities  the  good  bishop  felt  sure  his 
nephew's  severe  lesson  had  already  secured 
him. 

As  he  listened,  John  Haig's  whole  soul 
opened  to  his  uncle's  words.  For  ten  years 
he  had  lived  simply  by  force  of  such  a  hope. 
Morning  and  evening  it  had  been  with  him. 
It  alone  had  kept  the  prison  books  from  driv- 
ing him  mad ;  it  alone  had  admitted  sleep  be- 
tween the  bars  of  his  narrow  whitewashed 
cell.  Fanatical  it  had  indeed  fashioned  him, 
but  it  had  also  moved  him  to  keep  himself 
strong  in  body  and,  more  powerfully  still,  it 
had  wrought  to  make  him  morally,  if  narrow- 
ly, sound  of  soul.  He  opened  now  to  the  final 
realization  of  it  as  a  rose-tree  wakes  from  its 
sleep  of  winter  to  the  first  glad  sunshine  of 
returning  spring.  With  this  day  the  world 
was  recreated  for  him,  and  the  joyous 
glimpses  of  it  that  flashed  in  at  his  window 
wove  themselves  into  his  uncle's  words.  This 
earth  that  he  had  been  so  long  shut  away 
from,  this  earth  with  its  splendid  greens  and 
yellows;  this  sky  with  its  soft  clouds  and 
14 


OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 

tender  blue,  came  to  him  in  all  the  glory  of 
its  first  birthday.  He  breathed  it  in  and 
never  noticed  that  for  him  its  pure  air  was 
choked  with  the  dust  of  the  engine's  coal.  He 
was  too  drunken  with  its  free  glory.  He 
looked  upon  the  world  and  saw  that  it  was 
good. 

Nor  did  his  mood  change  when  their  talk 
had  wiled  away  the  miles  and,  with  the  sun- 
set, they  began  to  enter  the  city  which  was 
to  be  his  home.  The  town  seemed  even  more 
to  him  than  the  country.  Here  was  the  scene 
of  his  new  life.  The  dancing  snatches  of  it 
delighted  him.  Its  bustle  was  a  music.  The 
clang  of  trolley-cars,  the  smoke  of  factories, 
the  bustling  groups  that  blackened  the 
streets,  gave  him  the  intense  sense  of  action, 
of  work  through  all  its  manifold  units  of  ex- 
pression controlled  by  one  great  purpose. 
Work,  work!  that  was  the  magnificent  sum 
of  it.  His  whole  soul  filled  with  gratitude  to 
his  God,  who  had  granted  him  this  chance  of 
doing  among  men  and  for  men  his  little  share 
of  the  great  world's  mighty  task. 

The  joyous  dream  was  overpowering.  In 
15 


THE  THINGS  THAT  AKE  CESAR'S 

a  daze  he  allowed  the  bishop  to  hurry  him 
from  the  car,  down  the  platform,  and  through 
a  crowd  of  men — real  men  and  free ! — into  a 
cab.  In  a  daze  he  was  dimly  aware  that  they 
sprang  from  a  babel  of  tongues  and  clattered 
through  a  babel  of  traffic  down  this  street 
and  up  that,  and  in  a  daze  he  alighted,  all  too 
soon,  at  the  door  of  the  big  brownstone  house 
which  served  for  the  episcopal  residence. 

The  bishop  took  out  his  latch-key.  Then, 
observing  the  excitement  in  his  nephew's 
face,  he  gripped  the  trembling  hand.  He  was 
even  a  bit  sententious — as  the  best  of  clergy- 
men are  apt  to  be. 

"  *  He  hath  sent  me,*  "  quoted  Bishop  Os- 
good,  " '  to  bind  up  the  broken-hearted,  to 
proclaim  liberty  to  the  captives,  and  the  open- 
ing of  the  prison  to  them  that  are  bound ! ' 

And  at  that  moment  the  bishop  believed 
what  he  said.  He  was  the  shepherd  bearing 
home  the  lost  lamb  to  the  fold. 

The  next  and  he  had  opened  the  door. 

Then  there  came  about  something  with 
the  effect  of  which,  for  all  his  fancied  fore- 
sight, he  had  failed  to  reckon. 
16 


OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 

His  wife  had  rushed  down  the  hall  and 
flung  her  arms  about  the  neck  of  a  man  whom 
the  bishop  had  seen  but  a  matter  of  hours 
ago  a  convict  in  prison  garb  and  prison  cell. 

The  light  was  strong  on  the  clergyman's 
face.  He  started  and  immediately  his  eyes 
met  those  of  John.  He  saw  that  his  nephew 
read  what  was  so  largely  written  there. 


17 


n 

THE   HEART   OF   THE   WORLD 

WHEN  John  Haig  described  himself  as  the 
least  sentimental  of  men  he  was  as  far  wrong 
as,  when  we  come  to  describe  ourselves,  most 
of  us  are.  Whatever  he  had  been  in  that 
early  life  which  he  left  behind  him  upon  en- 
tering the  prison,  he  emerged,  after  his  long 
ordeal,  to  find  the  old  self  gone  and  the  world 
all  new  to  his  bewildered  eyes.  Throughout 
his  incarceration  he  had  fed  on  one  idea  until 
that  idea,  daily  impressed  upon  a  susceptible 
nature  and  a  plastic  mind  otherwise  unoccu- 
pied, had  become  a  part  of  him.  Unlike  the 
lower  criminal,  this  had  been  a  prisoner  with 
an  intellect.  His  brain  was  of  the  active  sort 
that,  be  the  hands  employed  at  labor  never 
so  arduous,  must  have  something  of  its  own  to 
work  upon.  And  this  was  the  only  thought  that 
was  given  him.  It  turned  him  from  rebellion 
18 


THE  HEART  OF  THE  WORLD 

to  loyalty,  from  despair  to  certain  hope.  It 
grew  to  be  the  great  fact  and  purpose  of 
his  existence;  the  one  dominant,  controlling 
force  of  his  spiritual  and  intellectual  life. 

This  idea,  it  is  almost  needless  to  remark, 
was  essentially  the  creation  of  a  sentiment 
which  a  coarse-fibred  world  would  surely 
mistake  for  sentimentality.  Haig's  valuation 
of  his  own  outlook  on  life  was,  indeed,  so  far 
from  correct  that,  in  any  other  instance,  he 
himself  was  prone  to  accept  the  common  con- 
fusion of  such  terms.  But  in  his  own  case 
his  solitary  life  had  made  him  a  blind  zealot. 
For  a  full  decade  his  sympathies  had  been 
innocently  but  ruthlessly  directed  into  abnor- 
mal channels,  and  he  therefore  returned  to 
existence  with  a  definitely  formed  plan,  a 
hard-and-fast  conception  of  the  moral  law. 
Practical  in  his  application  of  this  scheme  of 
ethics,  and  intolerant  of  many  another  of  no 
greater  futility,  he  had  yet  met  his  aunt's 
embrace  secure  in  the  bishop's  own  faith  that 
the  man  who  has  paid  society's  price  for  its 
indulgence  will  infallibly  have  that  paper  de- 
livered to  hand. 

19 


THE  THINGS  THAT  ARE  C^SAB'S 

When,  then,  his  observation,  trained  as 
only  a  prison  can  train  it,  caught  the  flash  of 
awakening  in  his  uncle's  face,  the  whole  man 
trembled  in  the  balance.  At  once  he  under- 
stood, far  better  than  the  clergyman,  just 
what  was  going  on  in  the  bishop's  soul.  Not 
that  he  doubted  the  justice  of  what,  but  a  mo- 
ment before,  had  been  their  common  premise. 
He  only  saw  that  the  bishop  doubted  it,  and 
for  a  moment  he  felt  that  he  must  leave  him 
to  his  shame ;  that  he  must  quit  a  house  under 
the  roof  of  which  he  could  not,  morally,  be 
seen  to  stand  upright. 

Yet  the  matter-of-fact  side  of  his  nature 
came  quickly  and  anomalously  to  the  rescue 
of  his  ideal.  After  all,  his  faith  in  the 
prophet  was,  as  yet,  a  part  of  his  faith  in 
the  god.  They  had  for  years  been  closely 
intertwined,  and  both  were  far  too  deeply 
and  severely  rooted  just  then  to  fall.  The 
bishop,  said  his  common-sense,  was  only 
human;  his  action  had  been  but  natural.  It 
was  an  involuntary  action,  the  result  not  of 
reason,  but  of  a  sudden  juxtaposition  of  two 
pictures,  the  remembered  one  of  which  must 
20 


THE  HEART  OF  THE  WORLD 

inevitably  and  shortly  fade  away.  Of  that 
one,  moreover,  the  men  among  whom  Haig 
was  about  to  begin  his  work  would  have  no 
knowledge  at  all,  and  even  to  privately  ad- 
monish the  bishop  for  wavering  would  serve 
but  to  prolong  the  last  moments  of  a  mem- 
ory or  a  life  better  in  every  way  under- 
ground. 

Being  a  man  who  always  and  at  once 
acted  in  accord  with  his  reason,  Haig  passed 
the  incident  by  and  shortly  achieved  tem- 
porary forgetfulness.  He  bore  himself  sim- 
ply as  he  was :  one  returned  from  a  long  ab- 
sence to  the  home  of  his  only  living  relatives. 
By  the  time  they  sat  down  to  dinner  he  had 
so  far  put  the  prison  behind  him  that  he  was 
able  to  eat  the  unaccustomed  food  in  the  old 
accustomed  manner,  and  had  so  succeeded  in 
brushing  aside  the  disturbing  incident  of  his 
arrival  that  he  could  calmly  and  even  pleas- 
antly discuss  his  wish  to  fall  to  work  without 
delay. 

As  a  result  of  that  wish  Haig  found  him- 
self in  the  afternoon  of  the  day  following  in 
the  small  and  dirty  room  that  served  as  office 
21 


.    THE  THINGS  THAT  ARE  CESAR'S 

for  the  city  editor  of  the  Globe-Express.  He 
had  entered  a  great  narrow  building  on  one 
of  the  main  streets,  and  been  shot  in  an  ele- 
vator to  the  fifth  floor  at  the  risk,  as  it 
seemed  to  him,  of  his  life.  He  had  threaded 
a  bewildering  maze  of  rooms  and  intermin- 
able passages,  and  at  last  stopped  before  this 
door  to  a  compartment  that  opened  off  a 
larger  room  filled  by  a  long  table  where  sat 
many  men  bending  over  the  morning  papers, 
and  apparently  waiting  for  some  summons. 

Mr.  Fealy,  the  city  editor,  was  a  tall,  slim 
man  with  a  brilliant  red  mustache  and  pierc- 
ing blue  eyes.  He  was  chewing  a  great  quid 
of  tobacco,  and  he  paused  only  for  an  instant 
from  this  amusement  to  look  at  Haig  with  a 
blankly  preoccupied  air. 

"  Morning,"  he  said.  "  What  can  I  do  for 
you?" 

Unlike  most  men  who  have  so  suffered, 
Haig  had  left  his  fear  in  jail. 

"  I  think,"  he  submitted,  "  that  my  uncle 
called  on  you  an  hour  or  two  ago.  I  am  John 
Haig." 

"John  Haig?" 

22 


THE  HEART  OF  THE  WORLD 

Evidently  the  name  awakened  no  echo  in 
the  memory. 

"  Yes,  my  uncle  is  Bishop  Osgood." 

"  Oh,  yes !  To  be  sure.  Your  uncle  had 
a  letter  from  Billy  Gwynne.  Sit  down,  Mr.— 
Mr.  Haig." 

Fealy  waved  a  vague  hand  about  the 
room,  but,  his  auditor's  glance  discovering 
the  only  other  chair  filled  with  newspapers 
already  yellow  from  age,  John  remained 
standing. 

"  So  you  want  to  go  into  the  newspaper 
business ? "  continued  the  city  editor,  unper- 
turbed by  this  little  difficulty.  "  What  ex- 
perience have  you  had! " 

"  I  haven't  had  any." 

"  Then  what  put  this  into  your  head?  Can 
you  write  1 " 

Haig  determined  to  regard  only  the  latter 
of  Fealy's  questions,  most  of  which,  he  was 
already  beginning  to  learn,  did  not  presup- 
pose any  answer  at  all. 

"  I  can't  write — yet,"  he  admitted. 

"Can't  write?  That's  good,  anyhow. 
I've  no  use  for  fellows  who  can  write.  A  re- 
23 


THE  THINGS  THAT  ARE  CESAR'S 

porter  just  wants  to  report.    Do  you  know 
the  city?" 

"  I'm  a  stranger  here,  but  I  guess  it  won't 
take  me  long  to  learn." 

Fealy,  whose  eyes  never  wavered,  spat 
into  a  distant  cuspidor,  flung  his  large  feet 
upon  the  desk — knocking  down  a  few  unre- 
garded papers  in  the  process — and  creaked 
back  in  his  slatternly  desk-chair  until  Haig 
expected  to  see  him  end  on  the  floor. 

"  Well,  Mr.  Haig,"  he  said,  "  you  haven't 
much  to  show,  have  you?  The  staff's  full 
just  now,  and  the  season  hasn't  opened  up 
the  way  it  ought  to.  But  our  paper  owes 
Billy  Gwynne  a  good  deal,  so  I'm  willing  to 
try  you.  I'll  put  you  on  at  once  at  a  small 
salary  till  I  see  what  you  can  do.  That's 
fair,  isn't  it?" 

"  Thank  you,"  replied  Haig.  "  When 
shall  I  start  in?" 

"  Right  away.  This  is  Friday.  We  pay 
Friday.  That  will  give  you  a  full  week." 

"  And  what's  the  salary  ?  " 

"  I'll  start  you  at  ten  dollars." 

"  Ten  dollars ! " 

24 


THE  HEART  OF  THE  WORLD 

"  My  dear  sir,  we've  got  men  in  there  who 
aren't  new  at  the  business  and  are  glad  to 
get  that  much." 

"  But  if  a  man's  brain's  worth  anything, 
it's  worth  more  than  ten  dollars  a  week." 

"  A  new  reporter  doesn't  use  his  brain ;  he 
uses  his  legs." 

Mr.  Fealy  evidently  considered  this  epi- 
grammatic, and  he  smiled,  accordingly,  his 
habitual  take-it-or-leave-it  smile. 

Haig  took  it.  For  a  bit  he  hesitated,  but 
he  argued  that  he  must  have  something  to  do, 
and  that  this  man  must  know  his  business. 
Moreover,  he  could  not  reasonably  expect  his 
employers  to  buy  pigs  in  .pokes. 

"  Very  well,"  he  said.  "  I'll  take  ten  dol- 
lars as  a  starter." 

"  Only  as  a  starter,"  Mr.  Fealy  reassured 
him. — "  Mr.  McGuire !  "  he  called. 

A  broad  -  shouldered,  pleasant  -  faced, 
sandy-haired  man  answered  this  summons. 

"  Mr.  McGuire,  this  is  Mr.  Haig,  the  new 
member  of  our  staff,"  said  Fealy.  "  I  spoke 
to  you  about  him  a  little  while  ago." 

Haig  was  all  wonderment  at  this  evidence 
8  25 


THE  THINGS  THAT  AEE  C^ESAK'S 

of  Fealy's  counting  upon  his  accepting  the 
poor  terms,  but  he  was  speedily  recalled 
from  that  condition  by  McGuire's  severe 
wringing  of  his  hand. 

"Brown's  off  to-day,"  Fealy  was  mean- 
while continuing,  "  so  you'd  better  send  Mr. 
Haig  out  on  the  second  day  of  those  teachers. 
.Take  good  care  of  him." 

"  I  will,"  said  McGuire. 

"  Good  luck,  Mr.  Haig.  McGuire  will  tell 
you  anything  you  want  to  know.  Good-bye." 

There  was  another  hand-shaking,  and 
then  Haig  was  led  into  the  larger  room,  now 
well-nigh  deserted,  and  directed  to  one  cor- 
ner of  a  smaller  table  by  a  far  window. 

"  I  guess,"  said  McGuire,  laying  a  great 
hand  upon  the  spot,  "I  guess  this  will  be  your 
place.  Mr.  Jay,  the  society  editor,  sits  there 
against  the  wall,  and  Mr.  Bicker  has  this 
place  on  the  other  side  of  you.  They're  not 
about  just  now,  but  I'll  introduce  you  when 
they  come  back.  Did  you  read  to-day's 
paper?  " 

The  suddenness  of  this  question,  appar- 
ently apropos  of  nothing,  took  Haig  off  his 
26 


THE  HEART  OF  THE  WORLD 

feet.  Fortunately  he  had  read  the  paper — 
the  last,  except  for  his  own  "  stuff  "  and  the 
"  heads  "  he  was  to  read  for  some  time  to 
come — and  managed  to  say  as  much. 

"  Well,  here's  what  we  had  on  this  meet- 
ing of  the  public-school  teachers  to  discuss 
the  courses  of  music  they're  going  to  give. 
We  want  a  follow-story  on  that.  There'll  be 
some  speeches  and  things.  Get  about  half  a 
column  on  it — we're  long  on  space  just  now. 
I  guess  we  have  the  pictures  to  carry  it." 

Most  of  this  was  Choctaw  to  Haig,  but  he 
was  far  too  wise  to  admit  it,  and  so  he  event- 
ually found  his  way  into  the  blinking  sun- 
light of  the  street  again,  asked  a  policeman 
how  to  get  to  the  place  of  meeting,  and  was 
soon  in  a  car  on  his  way  thither. 

It  was  indeed  an  odd  profession,  he  re- 
flected, this  upon  which  he  had  been  em- 
barked without  any  palpable  instruction. 
Odder  still,  he  might  have  added,  that  he 
should  seek  to  be  at  all  embarked  upon  it: 
The  truth  is  that  Haig,  like  many  men  who 
have  no  taste  for  any  other  particular  sort  of 
work,  had  always  supposed  that  the  news- 
27 


THE  THINGS  THAT  ABE 

paper  was  a  hole  to  which  almost  any  peg 
was  suited.  He  wanted  also,  and  for  obvious 
reasons,  to  be  out  of  doors  as  much  as  some 
good  class  of  employment  would  allow  him  to 
be,  and  above  all  he  was  anxious  to  get  close 
to  the  very  throbbing  heart  of  life.  Journal- 
ism, he  had  decided,  was  exactly  the  place 
for  him. 

Unacquainted  with  the  hours  of  the  busi- 
ness, he  had  gone  to  the  office  somewhat  late. 
The  meeting  he  was  to  "  cover  "  had  been  set 
for  eleven  in  the  morning,  so  that  when  he 
finally  got  to  the  appointed  place  he  was  sur- 
prised to  find  it  fast  closed.  By  the  aid  of  a 
directory  he  managed,  however,  to  find  one 
of  the  officers  who  lived  near  by,  and  from 
him  got  a  portion  of  an  address  and  enough 
additional  facts  to  fill,  he  thought,  the  space 
required. 

When  he  again  entered  the  local  room  it 
was  after  six  o'clock.  At  his  place  was  a 
manila  envelope  containing  for  his  guidance 
clippings  from  the  evening  papers,  which  of- 
fered all  the  news  he  had  so  elaborately 
gathered,  and  beside  it,  even  elbowing  it,  sat 
28 


THE  HEART  OF  THE  WORLD 

a  little  fellow,  pale,  briefly  mustached,  close- 
cropped,  with  a  set  of  false  teeth  and  a  broad 
grin. 

"  You're  the  new  man,  ain't  you? "  asked 
this  person. 

Haig  admitted  his  guilt. 

"  Well,  say — my  name's  Ricker — was  you 
out  on  those  teachers  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Why,  I  could  'a'  given  you  th'  whole 
thing.  I've  been  doin'  th'  Board  o'  Educa- 
tion for  two  years  now.  I  guess  you're  new 
at  the  business." 

"  This  is  my  first  offence." 

"  Then  look-'e-here :  You  don't  want  to 
bother  over  a  story  of  this  kind.  You  want 
to  wait  for  the  first  edition  of  the  evening 
papers.  Oh,  yes — and  you  want  to  keep  an 
account  of  everything  you  spend  for  the  pa- 
per. That  goes  on  your  expense-list.  You 
turn  it  in  Thursday  nights.  It's  a  rotten 
business.  All  work  and  no  thanks.  I've  been 
kep'  here  till  two  o'clock  every  mornin'  this 
week." 

Haig  wanted  to  write,  but  Ricker  assured 
29 


THE  THINGS  THAT  AEE  CESAR'S 

him  that  there  was  no  hurry — he  couldn't 
leave  for  dinner  before  the  evening  assign- 
ments were  given  out,  and  that  would  not  be 
for  an  hour  yet — so  that  he  had  to  let  the 
man  run  on: 

"How'd  you  get  on  the  paper?  It's  like 
drawin'  teeth.  Everything's  pull  these  days, 
I  tell  you.  See  Fealy?  My  my!  ain't  he 
lippy?  And  that  toiling  copy-reader  over 
there,  he's  another.  He's  literary,  an'  he 
thinks  Marie  Corelli's  the  greatest  writer 
ever  lived.  But  he's  just  an  ordinary  'editor' ; 
doesn't  count  for  much — name's  Carson — an' 
Mac's  the  salt  of  the  earth,  an'  so's  Ben  Don- 
ald— he's  Fealy's  assistant.  Guess  you  got 
Wayne's  place.  He  was  fired  to-day.  That 
seat  never  was  lucky.  Stubbs  had  it  before 
Wayne  an'  he  shot  himself.  Lovely  boy, 
too." 

Haig  was  arranging  his  clippings  and 
notes. 

"By  the  way,"  he  asked,  he  never  knew 
why,  "who's  Billy  Ginn?  " 

Ricker  leered. 

"You  mean  Billy  Gwynne.  Be  careful 
30 


THE  HEART  OF  THE  WORLD 

what  you  write  about  him.  He's  the  boss  of 
the  whole  town." 

"  Politically  I" 

"  Yep.  An'  every  other  way,  too. 
They've  never  been  able  to  catch  him,  but 
if  there  was  only  a  paper  that'd  print  it,  I 
know  stories  about  that  man — enough  to  get 
him  twenty  years."  Ricker  spoke  with  a  sort 
of  admiration.  "  But,"  he  concluded,  "  even 
the  Courier  wouldn't  touch  them.  I  tell  you 
a  man's  all  right  as  long  as  he  has  friends 
and  isn't  caught." 

Haig  turned  to  his  work.  He  had  long 
ago  forgotten  this  popular  attitude  towards 
crime,  and  Ricker's  crude  expression  of  it 
shocked  him  not  a  little.  Nor  was  that  all. 
He  had  heard  his  uncle  speak  of  a  letter  from 
this  politician,  who  had  then  been  mentioned 
as  a  respected  churchman.  Now  it  appeared 
—though  there  was  large  possibility  of  both 
confusion  and  overstatement — that  the  man's 
worldly  reputation  was  one  for  successful 
fraud.  If  there  was  not  some  mistake  of 
identity,  then  he  was  at  a  loss  to  account  for 
the  bishop's  blindness.  But  of  base  conces- 
31 


THE  THINGS  THAT  AEE  CJSSAB'S 

sion  on  the  part  of  his  relative  he  did  not 
dream,  and,  as  Ricker's  latest  sentiment 
closed  a  door  between  the  two  reporters,  he 
resolved  that  he  would  think  no  more  about 
the  matter.  Here  was  a  subject  of  which  he 
would  next  day  talk  to  his  uncle,  but  in  the 
mean  time  he  would  none  of  it.  Work  was, 
after  all,  the  first  thing.  And  so  he  started 
upp,n  his  story. 


32 


Ill 

ENTER  A  GIRL 

No  appeal  to  work  was  destined  long  to 
keep  the  new  reporter  from  his  cogitations 
upon  the  house  of  Gwynne.  He  had,  with 
infinite  pains,  written  just  twice  the  required 
number  of  words  about  his  musical  school- 
teachers when  his  name  was  bawled  from  the 
end  of  the  table  technically  known  as  the 
"  copy-desk,"  and,  following  the  example 
which  had  just  been  set  by  Kicker,  he  made 
his  way  thither. 

Fealy  had  long  since  completed  his  day's 
work,  and  his  assistant,  Donald,  was  in 
charge  of  the  local  room.  The  latter  man 
was  a  pleasant,  persuasive  Scot  who  came, 
nevertheless,  directly  to  the  point: 

"  Mr.  Haig,  I'm  glad  to  meet  you.  I  hope 
you'll  like  the  work.  We're  a  little  short  of 
men  at  present," — John  remembered  that 
33 


THE  THINGS  THAT  AEE  CAESAR'S 

Fealy  had  said  just  the  other  thing — "but 
I'm  going  to  be  easy  on  you  to-night.  We 
have  to  make  up  the  Sunday  society  page  to- 
morrow and  we  need  one  more  picture. 
Phyllis  Gwynne  was  one  of  the  debutantes 
last  week,  and  somehow  nobody  got  a  photo- 
graph of  her.  We'd  like  one.  If  you  can  get 
hold  of  her  father  or  mother  I  don't  think 
you'll  have  any  trouble.  She's  a  daughter  of 
Billy  Gwynne.  Here's  the  address." 

This  assignment  did  not  precisely  meet 
Haig's  preconceived  notions  of  journalism. 
Indeed,  to  tell  the  truth,  the  profession  had 
thus  far  given  him  a  rather  dismal  initiation. 
His  early  opinions  of  it  had  been  like  those 
of  most  outsiders.  He  did  not,  of  course,  ex- 
pect at  once  to  be  placed  upon  the  editorial 
staff  or  sent  to  interview  a  presidential  pos- 
sibility, but  he  decidedly  had  not  counted 
upon  being  sent  to  report  a  meeting  of 
school-teachers  in  the  afternoon  and  to  secure 
a  girl's  picture- in  the  evening.  He  had  all  the 
novice's  disdain  for  these  tasks,  and  all  the 
novice's  inability  to  understand  the  market 
value  of  such  "  news  "  as  he  had  been  gather- 
34 


ENTER  A  GIRL 

ing.  He  failed,  in  a  word,  to  comprehend 
that  a  newspaper  is  as  little  of  a  sermon  and 
as  much  of  a  business  concern  as  is  a  depart- 
ment store.  Consequently  he  was  half-con- 
sciously  depressed  and  almost  as  sensibly 
disheartened  by  his  new  mission. 

Nevertheless,  since  it  was  not  as  yet  given 
to  him  to  mould  public  opinion  in  the  larger 
affairs  of  life,  he  was  forced  to  acknowledge 
that  his  assignment  presented  certain  com- 
pensations. He  was  already  more  than  mild- 
ly concerned  about  the  family  the  head  of 
which  had  apparently  done  so  much  for  him, 
so  that  he  was  rather  glad  of  the  chance  to 
learn  more  of  it,  and  not  a  little  relieved 
when,  after  some  search,  he  at  last  found 
himself  before  an  eminently  inoffensive 
brownstone  house,  very  like  the  bishop's, 
and  standing  in  what  he  had  that  day  learned 
was  the  most  fashionable  portion  of  the  city. 

His  pull  at  the  bell  was  answered  by  a 
man-servant,  whose  appearance  was  not  cal- 
culated to  interfere  with  the  impression  pro- 
duced by  the  exterior  of  the  house. 

Harg  asked  for  Mr.  Gwynne.  He  was  not 
35 


THE  THINGS  THAT  AEE  CESAR'S 

at  home.  And  Mrs.  Gwynne?  She  also  had 
gone  out.  Possibly,  then,  suggested  Haig,  he 
could  see  Miss  Gwynne. 

The  man  showed  signs  of  discretion,  and 
thereupon  Haig,  though  he  knew  it  not,  gave 
his  first  evidence  of  the  newspaper  instinct. 

"  I  came,"  he  triumphantly  and  almost 
authoritatively  explained,  "  to  see  Mr. 
Gwynne  upon  a  somewhat  personal  matter, 
but  Miss  Gwynne  will  answer  quite  as  well." 

The  servant  capitulated. 

"  What  name  1 "  he  asked  after  the  man- 
ner of  his  kind. 

John  was  not  yet  enough  of  the  world  to 
have  recovered  his  card-plate. 

"Never  mind  that,"  he  said  shortly. 
"  Take  my  message  at  once." 

The  connotation  had  nettled  him,  and  the 
resulting  tone  completed  his  victory.  He 
was  shown  into  a  large  and  brilliantly  lighted 
room,  rich,  but  furnished  in  undeniably  good 
taste.  The  pictures  especially  were  of  the 
first  order,  and  framed  for  their  own  sakes, 
not  for  the  frames'.  The  walls  were  in  deep 
colours  and  the  rugs  luxurious  but  calm  of 
36 


ENTER  A  GIRL 


tone.  Bishop  Osgood,  even  with  his  small 
means,  could  have  done  no  better.  Nay,  at 
the  first  glance,  Haig  concluded  that  nobody 
could  have  improved  upon  the  heiress  of 
the  house  herself  as  she  advanced  towards 
him. 

When  those  who  knew  her  well  did  not 
think  only  of  her  position  and  wealth,  they 
rightly  considered  Phyllis  Gwynne  a  very 
pretty  girl.  Slightly  under  medium  height, 
with  a  complexion  of  clear  and  healthy  pallor, 
a  too  red  mouth,  and  a  nose  that  in  a  young 
woman  of  less  breeding  would  have  been  un- 
justified in  its  scorn  of  the  Greek  concep- 
tion of  all  that  a  nose  should  be,  she  had  been 
reared  so  to  carry  her  defects  that  any  save 
a  cynic  saw  but  her  trim,  graceful  figure,  her 
magnificent  chestnut  hair,  and  her  large  and 
subtle  hazel  eyes.  Her  real  charm  lay,  in 
fact,  in  the  na'ive  happiness  of  the  child  with 
the  golden  spoon.  For  she  was  decidedly  a 
type  with  possibilities,  no  doubt,  for  specific 
characterization,  but  with  such  development 
so  neglected — not  to  say  combated — as  to  be 
relegated  to  a  mental  background  whence 
37 


THE  THINGS  THAT  ARE  CESAR'S 

only  a  supreme  emotion  could  evoke  it  into 
kinetic  energy. 

To  John  Haig's  shattered  experience  the 
race  was,  however,  a  collection  of  individ- 
uals, and  upon  his  fresh  horizon,  already 
somewhat  troubled  by  the  initial  day's  little 
discomfitures,  this,  his  first  daughter  of  for- 
tune, rose  with  all  the  soothing  beauty  of  the 
evening  star. 

He  had  got  as  far  as  her  dress,  and  had 
noted  only  that  it  was  filmy  and  blue  and  en- 
chanting, when  there  burst  upon  him  the 
sense  that  she  had  paused  before  him  be- 
tween curiosity  and  surprise. 

"  Good-evening." 

It  was  not  so  much  the  pleasant  Ameri- 
can soprano  of  the  tone  as  the  frank  Ameri- 
can spirit  informing  it  that  put  them  both  at 
once  somehow  at  their  ease. 

He  looked  up  to  her  face  again  and,  each 
a  child  from  such  divergent  causes,  they 
smiled. 

"  Miss  Gwynne?  "  he  asked. 

She  nodded.  It  was  the  inclination  of  a 
girl. 

38 


ENTER  A  GIRL 

"  I  am  here,"  he  continued,  "  on  a  rather 
embarrassing  errand.  The  fact  is,  I'm  from 
the  Express.  I  was  sent  to  get  your  picture 
for  the  society  page,  and  as  I'm  new  at  the 
work  I  didn't  know  any  way  but  to  ask 
for  it." 

Further  apologies  thronged  easily  now  to 
his  lips,  but  were  not  destined  for  birth. 

"  My  picture?    Oh,  isn't  that  splendid!  " 

She  sat  down  on  a  fragile  chair  and,  with 
a  happy  laugh,  considered  the  joyous  oppor- 
tunity. 

Here  for  Haig  was  the  end  of  another 
Philistine  illusion  concerning  journalism. 
Pleasant  people  really  did  like  to  have  their 
pictures  in  a  paper !  But  the  present  exam- 
ple of  such  people  was  far  too  pleasant,  not 
to  say  startling,  for  any  analytical  considera- 
tion of  the  general  problem  involved,  and  iu 
obedience  to  a  gesture  John  too  sat  down  to 
deal  with  the  phase  of  the  matter  directly  in 
hand. 

"Then  you  don't  mind?"  he  managed 
to  ask. 

Her  reply  was  one  of  those  pretty  verbal 
39 


THE  THINGS  THAT  ARE  CESAR'S 

cascades  that,  having  so  long  to  fall,  turn 
mist  half-way  down  and  are  not  again  a  co- 
herent stream  until  they  are  gathered  into 
the  final  pool  beneath. 

"Mind?"  she  gasped.  "I'm  only  too 
glad  of  it — the  chance,  you  know.  All  the 
girls  who  came  out  have  been  in  but  me — 
Bess  Dinwiddie,  Blanche  Hardy,  Ethel 
Trench,  Jen  Freeze — oh,  all  of  them! — and 
I'm  green  with  envy — or  yellow,  or  whatever 
one  gets.  Really,  I'd  almost  made  up  my 
mind  to  send  my  photograph — as  I'd  like  to 
know  if  some  of  them  didn't." 

Haig  drank  of  the  pool,  but 

"  I'm  afraid,"  he  confessed,  "  that  I  can't 
help  you  there.  This  is  my  first  day  on  the 
paper." 

"And  they  sent  you  to  me?  Is  that  a 
compliment?  " 

John  was  forgetting  himself,  surprising 
himself,  and  delighting  in  the  surprise. 

"  For  you?  "  he  achieved.  "  To  a  new  re- 
porter it  was  very  flattering." 

Miss  Gwynne  had  tact  enough  to  revert 
to  the  main  theme. 

40 


ENTER  A  GIRL 

"  I  don't  know  what  Mr. "  She  hesi- 
tated, looked  him  over,  and  then  chose  the 
term  of  equality,  "  what  my  father  would  say 
about  my  giving  you  a  picture— 

"  You  will  tell  him,  of  course  t  "  suggested 
journalist  John. 

She  met  him  with  her  best  weapon,  her 
smile. 

"  Never !  "  she  declared. 

And  even  Haig's  Puritan  conscience  did 
not  enforce  objection. 

"  You  mustn't  even  let  on  how  you  got  it, 
I'm  afraid,"  she  pursued.  "  Father,  I  dare 
say,  wouldn't  finally  mind,  but  I  fear 
mother  is  rather  old-fashioned  about  such 
things,  and  if  father  heard  how  you  got  it 
he  might  let  the  cat  out  of  the  bag." 

"  I  sha'n't  even  tell  them  at  the  office  how 
I  came  by  it." 

There  was  a  pause  which  she  again  saved 
from  embarrassment  by  her  manner  of  direct 
appeal  to  bare  facts. 

"  It's  an  absurd  convention,"  she  ex- 
plained, "  and  everybody  knows  everybody 
else  is  lying,  but  they  all  say  to  each  other 
4  41 


THE  THINGS  THAT  AEE  CJESAR'S 

that  they  can't  imagine  how  the  papers  get 
hold  of  all  they  print  about  them." 

She  had  managed,  by  the  imagining  of  a 
common  secret,  to  put  him  completely  at  his 
ease ;  had  overcome  both  his  natural  and  his 
artificially  enforced  shyness. 

"  It's  like  children  playing  *  pretend,'  "  he 
suggested. 

"  Exactly,"  she  agreed. 

"  I  am  learning  my  profession." 

"  Oh,  for  this  part  of  it  you  couldn't  have 
come  to  a  better  school !  " 

"  And  yet  the  best  newspaper  men  never 
believe  in  schools  of  journalism." 

"  Well,  this  one  is  so  practical,  you  see. 
And  now  you'll  want  the  picture." 

He  looked  at  her  with  his  odd,  contempla- 
tive smile. 

"  Come  to  think  of  it,"  he  said,  "  that  was 
my  mission." 

"  Then  if  you'll  let  me — I  daren't  trust 
even  the  servants  in  the  deed — I'll  run  up- 
stairs and  get  it." 

She  rose,  but  John's  eye  had  been  caught 
by  a  photograph  on  a  table  at  her  side. 
42 


ENTER  A  GIRL 

"  Must  you  go  for  it!  "  he  asked. 

She  followed  his  glance. 

"  Oh,  that's  an  old  one  1 "  she  cried.  "  I 
couldn't  let  you  have  that." 

She  reached  for  it,  but  he  had  been  too 
quick  for  her. 

"  If  you  will  allow  ine,"  he  appealed,  and 
took  the  picture. 

It  was,  as  she  had  said,  an  old,  or  rather 
a  young  one — perhaps  five  years  old.  It 
showed  a  slim  girl,  a  schoolgirl,  indeed,  with 
a  sweet  face,  ingenuous,  almost  wistful,  and 
something — he  could  not  say  what — about  it 
that,  as  he  looked  up  at  the  original  for  con- 
firmation, he  found  missing,  or  supplanted 
there.  For  a  flash  he  felt  the  loss  of  it,  but 
then  she  stooped  to  examine  the  picture  and 
he  felt  her  breath  for  a  flying  instant  on  his 
trembling  hand. 

"  If  I  may  say  so,"  he,  however,  seriously 
persisted,  "  it  is  very  lovely." 

"It's  a  fright,"  she  retorted,  and  disap- 
peared. 

He  stood  alone  then,  with  the  photograph 
in  his  hand,  and  again  he  began  to  fall  a 
43 


THE  THINGS  THAT  ARE  CESAR'S 

victim  to  its  peculiar  charm.  What  was  it? 
What  was  this  subtle  quality  that  spoke 
straight  to  all  that  was  best  in  him  from  out 
those  pictured  girlish  eyes?  What  had  that 
flash  of  light  travelled  from  the  burning  sun 
through  sheer  space,  for  all  the  millions  of 
miles,  to  catch  in  that  particular  instant  and 
fix  upon  the  sensitive  plate?  Just  the  face 
of  a  child,  a  face  peeping  through  the  half- 
opened  door  of  womanhood,  joyously  ex- 
pectant, and  delightfully  awed  by  the  dim 
disclosures  that,  with  innocent  wisdom,  it 
guessed  were  lurking  there.  He  felt  the  spell 
none  the  less  keenly  for  his  inability  to  grasp 
its  processes. 

Five  years  ago!  Why,  then  he  was — he 
was—  The  sealed  and  forgotten  springs 
of  his  heart,  the  lost  wells  of  love,  gushed 
into  his  eyes  and  mastered  him.  Foolishly, 
impulsively,  he  bent  his  head  as  if  to  kiss 
the  printed  lips. 

Whether  or  no  she  saw  him  he  could  not 
divine,  but  at  that  moment  her  voice,  at  any 
rate,  sounded  from  the  doorway. 

"  I  don't  think  it's  very  nice  of  you — is  it? 
44 


ENTER  A  GIRL 

—to  be  so  much  pleased  with  what  I  used  to 
be  and  not  with  what—  She  stopped 

abruptly.  Daring  at  last  to  steal  a  glance  at 
her,  he  thought  she  even  blushed  a  little. 
But  she  soon  went  on  easily :  "  If  you've 
quite  done,  however,  perhaps  you'll  look  at 
this." 

The  newer  picture  had,  certainly,  its 
points  of  merit,  even  of  superiority.  In  fact, 
to  the  more  tutored  observer,  it  was  just  that 
quality  of  superiority  in  the  expression  of 
the  photograph,  as  of  the  present  girl  her- 
self, that  would  have  been  the  single  detract- 
ing influence.  But  in  such  things  John  was 
not  tutored.  For  him  the  later  phase  of  his 
planet  was  so  brilliant  as  to  obliterate,  for 
the  time,  the  very  memory  of  what  it  had 
superseded. 

"  Yes,"  he  granted,  "  I  think  I  do  like  this 
one  better." 

"  It's  surely  more  suited  to  what  your 
paper  wants  it  for." 

"Ah  yes,  it  is  my  paper  that  wants  it, 
isn't  it  f" 

She  passed  this  by. 
45 


THE  THINGS  THAT  ARE  CAESAR'S 

"  I  can  have  it  back,  can't  I?  "  she  asked, 
as  if  by  way  of  afterthought. 

"  Why  I — I  suppose  so,"  he  stammered. 
"  You  see,  I'm  so  dreadfully  new  at  these 
things  that  I  don't  know  what  the  cus- 
tom is." 

"  I  really  ought  to  have  it,"  she  explained. 
"  I  don't  think  it's  very  pleasant  to  think  of 
one's  photograph  lying  about  a  newspaper 
office " 

"  Oh,  it  wouldn't  do  that ! "  he  assured 
her.  If  there  was  any  question  of  this  sort, 
he  resolved  that  he  would  have  the  picture 
for  himself. 

"  But  that's  not  my  only  reason  for  want- 
ing it  returned.  It's  the  last  of  the  lot,  and  I 
forgot  to  order  any  more  to-day,  and  I  faith- 
fully promised  Bishop  Osgood  to  give  him 
one  not  later  than  to-morrow.  He  confirmed 
me,  and  he  wanted  the  pictures  of  all  that 
class.  He  got  most  of  them  at  the  time  of 
it  all,  you  know — but  for  one  reason  or  an- 
other I've  been  putting  it  off  from  time  to 
time." 

"Bishop  Osgood?" 
46 


ENTER  A  GIRL 

"  Yes.  Do  you  know  him  T  But  of  course 
you  do.  Everybody  does  know  him." 

"  I  am  his  nephew.  Just  at  present  I  am 
living  with  him." 

She  looked  her  pleasure. 

"  His  nephew!  I  didn't  know  he  had  one. 
I  didn't  remember  hearing  him  speak— 

"Probably  not.  I've  been — I've  been 
away  from  him — quite  far  away — for  a  num- 
ber of  years." 

"  Then  you  are  Mr.  Osgoodt  " 

"  No.  My  name  is  Haig — John  Haig. 
The  bishop  is  only  my  uncle  by  marriage, 
though  he's  really  been  much  more  to  me 
than  that.  Even  though  I've  seen  so  little  of 
him  for  so  long,  he's  been  everything  to  me." 

"  I  can  easily  understand  how  he  should 
be.  I  think  he  is  the  best  man  alive." 

Her  tone  was  spontaneous,  sincere.  Haig 
could  have  taken  her  in  his  arms  then  and 
there.  However,  he  escaped  the  difficulties 
naturally  attendant  upon  such  a  step,  and 
reluctantly  reverted  to  more  practical  topics. 

"  The  bishop  is,  in  fact,  so  good  to  me," 
he  said,  "  that  I'm  sure  he'll  even,  if  neces- 
47 


THE  THINGS  THAT  ARE  CESAR'S 

sary,  forgive  me  for  keeping  your  picture 
from  him  for  a  little  while  longer." 

For  a  man  ten  years  buried  this  was  a 
draught  of  success,  but  there  was  this  bit- 
terness in  the  cup:  it  brought  them  to  their 
parting.  He  left  her  with  her  suggestion 
that,  as  the  bishop's  nephew,  he  would  see 
her  soon  and  often,  and,  as  he  passed  from 
the  light  of  her  home  into  the  darkness  of  the 
nearly  deserted  street,  he  began  dimly  to 
discern  how  much  that  hope  already  meant  to 
him. 

John  Haig  was  not  given  to  introspection. 
He  was  far  too  emotional  for  the  acquire- 
ment of  that  enervating  habit  of  mind.  The 
advent  of  a  sudden  desire  or  the  coming  of  a 
pressing  necessity  drove  him  not  to  thought 
but  to  action.  It  was  this  temperamental 
aptitude  which,  in  his  early  youth,  had  led  to 
his  downfall,  and  even  in  prison  he  had  but 
accepted  the  most  comforting  theory  ad- 
vanced by  others,  and  lived  for  that  alone. 
Circumstance,  however,  could  force  upon  him 
a  conclusion,  and  that  conclusion  he  would 
make  an  integral  part  of  a  faith  for  any  sin- 
48 


ENTER  A  GIRL 

gle  article  of  which  he  would  have  suffered 
martyrdom  unquestioningly.  That  was  what 
had  happened  this  evening,  and  that  was  why 
he  bent  glad  returning  steps  towards  the  Ex- 
press office,  thrilled  with  the  belief  that  he 
had  just  been  vouchsafed  another  revelation 
of  the  divine. 

He  had  come,  almost  literally,  from  the 
tomb.  After  a  sleep  of  horrid  dreams  that 
had  effaced  the  memory  of  men,  he  had  been 
resurrected  to  a  life  every  detail  of  which 
was  strange  to  him.  His  heart  was  again  the 
white  tablet  loved  of  imagery.  He  had  gone 
to  his  work  with  large  ideals  and  high  hope, 
and  the  somewhat  sordid  reality  that  had 
confronted  him  at  the  outset  had  contained 
even  for  his  near-sighted  enthusiasm  the 
promise  of  speedy  disillusioning.  Then,  for 
the  first  time  in  a  decade,  he  had  talked  with 
a  pretty  and  not  unsophisticated  girl  in 
whom  the  element  of  the  fashionable  would 
have  been,  to  him,  bewildering  at  any  time. 
The  sheer  fact  that,  as  he  had  just  seen  her, 
she  was  a  more  or  less  dazzling  embodiment 
of  crude,  though  polished,  femininity  was,  by 
49 


THE  THINGS  THAT  AEE  CAESAR'S 

the  very  force  of  its  splendid  disguise,  the 
determining  power  in  his  enchantment. 
Prison  discipline  was  still  so  far  potent  that 
he  must  translate  all  passion  in  the  terms  of 
spirit,  but  passion,  though  of  an  exalted  sort, 
this  girl  had  certainly  inspired. 

Upon  the  whole,  he  decided  that  he  would 
postpone  with  Bishop  Osgood  his  intended 
discussion  of  the  ethical  status  of  Billy 
Gwynne. 


50 


IV 

A  LEGATE  OF  THE  PRESS 

EVEN  to  the  most  violent  of  passions 
things  have  sometimes  an  annoying  way  of 
not  happening,  and,  for  the  first  few  days 
succeeding  the  evening  of  his  initial  experi- 
ence in  journalism,  it  seemed  to  John  Haig 
as  if  he  were  doomed  to  disappointment  in 
his  originally  dreaded  theory  concerning  the 
haunting  influence  of  his  Acrasia's  family 
name.  From  the  office  no  assignment  sent 
him  again  into  her  world;  while,  in  the  few 
moments  which  his  work  allowed  him  with 
the  bishop,  loyalty  upon  the  one  hand  and  a 
boyish  and  beautiful  perception  of  the  holy 
character  of  this  new  tenderness  upon  the 
other,  forbade  him  both  designed  and  casual 
mention  of  the  person  and  persons  who  most 
possessed  his  thoughts. 

But  though  there  was  a  lack  of  the  precise 
51 


THE  THINGS  THAT  AEE  C^SAK'S 

sort  of  work  lie  just  now  so  desired,  work  of 
every  other  sort  was  by  no  means  wanting. 
The  paper  must  have  been,  as  Ben  Donald 
had  said,  short-handed,  for,  within  the  week, 
this  cub  reporter  had  tasted  of  some  of  the 
most  mature  fruit  that  grows  upon  the  very 
various  branches  of  the  anomalous  profes- 
sion's many-knotted  trunk.  The  pleasing  re- 
sult was  that  John  had  speedily  acquired 
something  of  the  savoir-faire  which  is  the 
whole  secret  of  the  work.  His  regular  shift 
was  supposedly  the  usual  one  from  the  first 
hour  in  the  afternoon  until  the  last  in  the 
night ;  but  all  newspaper  "  days  "  are  arbi- 
trarily formal,  and  Haig's  evident  willing- 
ness shortly  resulted  in  lending  to  the  allotted 
time  a  marvellous  elasticity.  His  hours  were 
frequently  lengthened  indefinitely  and  at 
either  end,  until,  upon  one  occasion,  he  began 
work  with  an  expected  police  raid  at  four 
o'clock  of  one  morning  and  ended  it  with  an 
unlooked-for  stabbing  affray  at  two  of  the 
morning  following. 

He  was   not,   of  course,   intrusted  with 
work  which  required  either  experience  in  the 

52 


A  LEGATE  OF  THE  PRESS 

collection  of  facts  or  skill  in  their  presen- 
tation, but  he  had  satisfactorily  covered 
enough  assignments,  of  qualities  sufficiently 
diverse,  to  be  justified  in  his  feeling,  as  he 
drew  his  first  ten  dollars  on  the  following 
Friday,  that  he  was  well  on  the  way  to  becom- 
ing conversant  with  this  one  division  of  jour- 
nalism and  to  be  considerably  tired  in  body 
and  not  a  little  sickened  in  soul. 

From  his  ill-advised  position  he  was  com- 
pelled to  observe  that  the  press  was  indeed  a 
mighty  instrument,  but  he  was  driven  by  a 
similar  force  to  confess  that  it  was  not  ex- 
actly the  sort  of  powerful  engine  which  both 
fiction  and  fancy  had  painted  it.  He  did  not 
see  how  any  good  was  to  be  done  the  public 
— and  he  knew  that  none  was  to  be  done  the 
finer  instincts  of  any  of  the  individuals  im- 
mediately concerned — by  his  ringing — as  he 
had  a  day  before  been  ordered  to  do — at  a 
squalid  house  to  ask  a  husband  why  his  wife 
had  cut  her  lover's  throat  an  hour  earlier. 
Like  all  the  employe's  of  a  newspaper,  from 
the  new  scrub-woman  in  the  press-room  to 
the  supposedly  seasoned  city  editor,  he  began 
53 


THE  THINGS  THAT  AKE  (LESAR'S 

to  feel  that  he  could  conduct  the  journal  then 
making  use  of  his  valuable  services  on  lines 
far  more  successful  than  those  which  it  was 
at  present  pursuing,  and  he  returned  to  his 
lonely  chair  in  the  local  department  devoutly 
thankful  for  the  chance  to  rest  that  had  been 
offered  by  Mr.  Fealy's  telling  him  to  "  stay 
around  the  office  on  emergency  duty." 

Generally  speaking,  this  is  the  newspaper 
euphemism  for  doing  nothing  at  all,  but  on 
this  occasion  the  fates  had  decreed  otherwise. 
Haig  had  not  been  "  waiting  "  for  fifteen  min- 
utes when  the  unwonted  stillness  of  the  office 
was  broken  by  a  heavy  footfall  and  the  sound 
of  a  half-whispered  conversation  from  the 
city  editor's  room. 

"  Nobody  but  that  new  man,"  John  heard 
Fealy's  voice  pronouncing. 

"  What  does  he  amount  to  ?  "  asked  a  tone 
that  was  strange. 

The  answer  was  lost  to  the  ear,  but  its 
tenor  was  supplied  by  the  quick  rejoinder: 

"Well,  he'll  have  to  do  this  time.  Just 
now  it  looks  as  if  this  thing  won't  keep." 

Then  Haig's  name  was  called,  softly,  he 
54 


A  LEGATE  OF  THE  PRESS 

thought,  and  with  more  consideration  than 
theretofore,  and  he  passed  into  the  presence 
of  the  head  of  his  department. 

Fealy  was  chewing  his  accustomed  quid, 
his  face  was  more  flushed,  his  blue  eyes 
keener  than  ever.  Beside  him  stood  a  tall, 
stout  man  with  a  blond  mustache  and  a 
hurried  air,  to  whom,  as  Mr.  Thring, 
the  editor-in-chief,  Haig  was  rapidly  pre- 
sented. 

"We've  got  a  very  delicate  job  for  you 
to  do,"  began  Fealy,  looking  through  and 
through  the  reporter,  "  and  if  you  do  it  all 
right  it  may  mean  a  good  deal  for  you." 

"  There's  no  need  of  concealing  from  you, 
Mr.  Haig,"  the  hurried  man  put  in — to  his 
colleague's  ill-concealed  chagrin,  "  there's  no 
need  concealing  from  you  that  this  is  a  thing 
for  a  much  more  experienced  man.  But 
there's  nobody  else  about ;  the  tip's  exclusive, 
and  we've  reason  to  believe  the  person  we 
want  you  to  see  is  just  going  to  get  out  of 
town  as  fast  as  he  can.  He  doesn't  know  of 
the  warrant  yet,  Fealy,  but  of  course  he'll 
get  wind  of  it  somehow,  if  he's  guilty  and 
55 


THE  THINGS  THAT  ARE  CESAR'S 

against  the  gang,  so  we  believe  he  means  to 
chuck  the  whole  thing  by  running  away." 

"  You've  read  the  story  we  had  this  morn- 
ing," asked  Fealy,  "  on  the  rumours  about 
something  crooked  in  the  contract  for  the 
new  jail? " 

Haig  had  read  the  head-lines  carefully 
enough  to  permit  of  his  now  nodding  assent. 

"  Well,  we  understand  that  a  warrant's 
just  been  sworn  out  on  the  quiet  for  the  chief 
contractor,  a  fellow  named " 

"  Elridge,"  supplied  Mr.  Thring. 

"  Yes,  Elridge.  The  charges  are  fraud, 
conspiracy,  and  bribery — or  something  of 
that  kind.  He  isn't  sure  about  the  warrant, 
but  he's  thinking  of  skipping.  It's  queer  that 
he  should — we  can't  make  that  out — but  we 
get  it  straight  that  he  is.  Meanwhile,  we've 
come  into  possession  of  that.  Cast  your  eye 
over  it." 

He  carefully  handed  Haig  an  envelope 
from  which  the  reporter  withdrew  a  slip  of 
note-paper.  It  was  evidently  a  letter,  but 
was  without  any  heading,  written  in  a  hur- 
ried hand  and  post-marked,  as  Mr.  Thring 
56 


A  LEGATE  OF  THE  PRESS 

explained,  the  day  before  the  award  of  con- 
tracts.   John  read: 

"  Dear  Belle :  Got  that  city  job  I  was  tell- 
ing you  about,  but  we  certainly  had  to  work 
for  it  and  pay  out  a  lot.  We  had  the  other 
envelopes  opened,  and  it  will  cost  us  some- 
thing for  every  bidder  and  a  lot  for  councils. 
However,  will  be  able  to  see  you  then  a  day 
earlier  than  I  expected,  so  look  for  me  by  the 
same  train  the  day  previous. — Yours  aff. — 
F.  X.  E." 

"  What  a  fool  he  was  to  write  that ! "  Haig 
ventured  to  comment  as  he  returned  the  con- 
victing note. 

"  Young  man,"  said  Mr.  Thring,  "  when 
you've  been  as  long  in  this  business  as  I  have 
you  won't  be  surprised  at  anything,  especial- 
ly if  it's  something  a  man  does  for  a  woman. 
Just  once  too  often  in  his  life  every  man's  a 
fool  for  some  woman." 

But  Fealy  was  anxious  to  get  to  work. 

"  Now,  Mr.  Haig,"  he  ordered,  "  you  take 
the  envelope  only.  It  may  come  in  handy. 
What  we  want  you  to  do  is  to  nail  Elridge, 
5  57 


THE  THINGS  THAT  ARE  CESAR'S 

if  possible  just  as  he's  about  to  go,  and  get 
some  sort  of  an  interview  before  he  clears 
out.  Understand?  Nobody  else  is  likely  to 
get  it,  and  if  you  can  land  it,  it  will  be  a 
big  beat,  and  ought  to  stir  up  politics 
in  the  morning.  Get  into  his  office  somehow, 
and  if  he  doesn't  want  to  talk,  make  him 
talk." 

"  But  be  careful,"  added  Mr.  Thring,  "  to 
be  perfectly  honest  with  him  and  not  to  mis- 
quote him.  We  want  to  be  square  and  we 
don't  want  any  libel." 

"  His  office,"  continued  the  city  editor,  "  is 
somewhere  in  the  Van  Vendig  building " 

"  Fourth  floor,  I  think." 

"  Yes,  fourth  floor.  Get  it  now,  and  hur- 
ry up,  and  be  sure  you  don't  talk  to  any  one 
about  it,  not  even  any  one  else  in  the  office. 
It'll  be  a  big  story." 

And  Fealy  dismissed  his  reporter  with  a 
great  slap  on  the  back. 

Haig,  rushing  out  with  a  pocket  full  of 

copy-paper,  remembered  those  rumours,  in 

fact,  but  indistinctly,  and  had,  he  reflected, 

replied  somewhat  at  random  when  Fealy  had 

58 


A  LEGATE  OF  THE  PRESS 

asked  if  he  had  read  them.  The  city,  he 
knew,  had  begun  to  build  a  new  jail,  and  it 
had  been  whispered  that  the  man  who  secured 
the  centract  had  not  been  the  lowest  bidder. 
There  had  been  ill-defined  scandal  connected 
with  all  public  work  since  the  present  politi- 
cal machine  had  come  into  its  complete  con- 
trol, but  the  favoured  contractors  had  all  been 
men  whom  it  was  more  or  less  easy  to  con- 
nect with  the  administration,  and — another 
point  of  difference — there  had  escaped  no 
detail  on  which  the  struggling  opposition 
could  lay  hold.  Now,  however,  the  Express, 
which  was  a  machine  paper — as,  indeed,  were 
all  the  local  journals,  save  the  ineffective 
Courier — had  reason  to  believe  that  it  had 
unearthed  a  scandal,  which  was  rare  news, 
and  which  could  not  be  laid  at  the  door  of  its 
own  faction,  since  the  last  revolt  against 
boss  rule  had  resulted  in  temerity  enough 
in  the  administration  apparently  to  allow 
of  the  jail  being  attended  to  in  the  correct 
fashion.  Finally,  the  suspected  man  was 
a  stranger  whose  residence  and  business 
interests,  of  which  little  could  be  discov- 
59 


THE  THINGS  THAT  ARE  CESAR'S 

ered,  were  all  in  another  city  and  another 
State. 

A  big  story,  indeed,  but,  for  a  still  some- 
what shy  young  man  just  beginning  his  sec- 
ond week  of  newspaper  work,  a  story  not 
without  its  difficulties.  How  he  was  to  han- 
dle it  Haig  could  not  guess.  As  he  threaded 
his  way  through  the  busy  streets,  he  thought 
of  a  thousand  schemes,  but,  one  after  the 
other,  they  all  perished  in  the  planning,  until 
he  found  himself  in  the  narrow  stone  hall- 
way of  the  place  he  sought  and,  with  his 
finger  on  the  call-button  of  the  elevator- 
shaft,  desperately  determined  to  leave  the 
decision  to  chance. 

Unlike  its  neighbours,  the  ground-glass 
door,  before  which  he  then  was  shortly  paus- 
ing, had  printed  upon  it  the  name  of  no  firm, 
nothing,  in  fact,  but  its  number.  Below  this, 
however,  a  simply,  but  carefully  lettered 
card  had  been  placed  between  wood-work  and 
glass,  and  thereon  were  the  words: 

F.  X.  ELRIDGE, 

Contractor  and  Builder. 
60 


A  LEGATE  OF  THE  PRESS 

The  time  for  preparation  having  come 
and  gone  in  vain,  Haig's  fine  instinct  for 
action  asserted  itself  and,  without  weighing 
the  consequences,  he  opened  the  door  and  en- 
tered unannounced. 


61 


IN  THE   STATE   OF   DENMARK 

THE  room  was  small  but  bright,  with  two 
windows  opening  upon  the  air-shaft  at  the 
farther  end,  a  deserted  typewriter-desk  and 
a  table-desk  considerably  littered  with  let- 
ters and  an  open  ledger  or  two  in  the  centre. 
Blue-print  plans  of  the  new  prison  were  the 
only  attempt  at  decorating  the  walls  other- 
wise enhanced  merely  by  the  marks  from  the 
striking  of  many  matches.  There  was  a  desk- 
chair,  a  few  other  chairs,  and  a  telephone  in 
one  corner.  The  floor  was  bare,  and  Haig 
started  at  the  noise  made  by  his  first  step 
upon  it. 

Simultaneously  with  the  opening  of  the 
front  door,  and  because,  no  doubt,  of  the 
sound  made  thereby,  another  was  thrown 
back  opening  upon  an  inner  office,  and  some 
one  peered  out  towards  the  reporter  with  a 
curious  little  snort  of  surprise. 
62 


IN  THE  STATE  OF  DENMARK 

The  man  was  between  Haig  and  the  light, 
but  the  reporter  noted  that  so  much  of  him 
as  could  be  seen  was  short  and  stout  and  puf- 
fy, dressed  in  dark  blue  serge  of  extravagant 
cut,  and  with  a  round  fiercely  coloured  face, 
carefully  curled  small  black  mustache,  snub 
nose,  low  brows,  and  rat-like  dark  eyes  that 
revealed,  even  when  seen  in  this  way,  the 
soul  of  a  coward  skulking  behind  the  ill-suit- 
ing features  of  a  bully. 

"  Hello !  "  said  this  person.  "  I  thought 
I'd  locked  the  door." 

"I  should  have  knocked,"  Haig  suavely 
apologized,  "but  I  did  not  know  that  your 
business  hours  were  over  so  soon." 

"  They're  not  over,"  the  man  brusquely 
replied,  "  but  I've  got  some  very  private  busi- 
ness to  attend  to." 

"Oh,  then,  I'd  better  not  take  up  your 
time." 

And  Haig,  with  a  smile  which  he  meant 
to  be  knowing,  made  as  if  to  back  out. 

His  unwilling  host  was  clearly  of  a  sus- 
picious turn. 

"Not  at  all,"  he  hastened  to  rejoin. 
63 


THE  THINGS  THAT  ARE  CESAR'S 

"  That  is,  I  suppose  I  can  spare  you  a  min- 
ute or  two  if  it's  very  important.  What  can 
I  do  for  you  I  " 

Haig  took  the  cue,  banged  the  front  door 
behind  him,  and  strode  to  the  desk  in  the 
centre  of  the  room,  making  sure,  as  he  did  so, 
that  there  was  no  one  else  in  the  apartment 
beyond. 

"  Why,"  he  said  smilingly,  "  give  me,  of 
course,  as  you  so  kindly  suggested,  a  minute 
or  two." 

The  stranger  hesitated,  bit  his  mustache 
with  a  flash  of  singularly  white  teeth,  and 
then  came  forward  to  the  other  side  of  the 
desk. 

He  was  all  that  John  had  guessed — and 
more.  Across  his  broad  waistcoat  was 
stretched  an  unnecessarily  heavy  watch- 
chain,  his  hands  were  thick,  and  his  fingers, 
between  two  of  which  he  held  the  still  smok- 
ing end  of  a  cigar,  were  adorned  with  one 
large  ring  cut  by  a  connotative  old  English  E 
and  another  bearing  a  diamond  somewhat  too 
generous  of  size  and  water. 

John  looked  at  him  squarely,  but  he  did 
64 


IN  THE  STATE  OF  DENMARK 

not  shift  from  the  reporter  the  rude  glare 
which  the  latter  was  beginning  to  acknowl- 
edge he  fully  deserved. 

"  Are  you  Mr.  Elridge  ? "  he,  however, 
asked. 

"  Yes." 

"Mr.  F.X.  Elridge?" 

"  That's  my  name." 

"  The  man  who  has  the  contract  for  the 
new  jail? " 

"  Yes,  yes !  How  many  times  must  I  tell 
you!" 

John  was  growing  as  unnecessarily  angry 
as  his  victim  was  annoyed,  but  his  emotion 
took  the  ugly  form  of  perverse  geniality. 

"You  don't  have  to  tell  me  ever  again," 
he  said.  "  It's  a  pleasant  day,  Mr.  Elridge." 

He  had  still  not  the  remotest  idea  of  how 
he  should  set  about  the  matter  in  hand,  and 
he  was  fencing,  consequently,  for  an  opening. 

The  contractor  straightway  supplied  it. 

"  I  don't  suppose  you  came  here  to  talk 
about  the  weather,"  he  snapped.  "And  if 
you're  not  very  busy,  I  am.  What  do  you 
want  ? " 

65 


THE  THINGS  THAT  AEE  CAESAR'S 

Here  was  the  issue.  Haig  drew  a  deep 
breath,  kept  his  gaze  steadily  upon  the  con- 
tractor and,  seriously  enough  now,  began: 

"  Mr.  Elridge,  I  don't  blame  you  for  talk- 
ing this  way,  but  I  have  to  tell  you  something 
unpleasant — something  really  very  ugly — 
and  I  honestly  don't  know  exactly  how  to  be- 
gin." 

Elridge's  glance  grew  wild  for  a  moment 
and  then  dropped.  His  right  hand  fumbled 
with  some  papers  on  the  desk.  He  sat  down, 
the  cigar  falling  unregarded  from  his  fingers.. 
But,  so  long  as  there  was  a  chance  to  ex- 
hibit bravado  in  its  stead,  he  was  not  of  the 
fibre  to  show  his  terror.  As  Haig  drew  a 
chair  opposite  him  he  looked  up,  therefore, 
at  once.  His  words  were  commonplace 
enough. 

"No  trouble  at  the  jail,  I  hope?"  he 
asked. 

John  measured  his  reply. 

"  You  will  have  no  trouble  with  the  jail," 
he  said — "  just  yet." 

"What  in  thunder  do  you  mean? " 

Elridge  rapped  out  the  words  in  a  panic, 
66 


IN  THE  STATE  OF  DENMARK 

and  the  next  instant  was  palpably  ashamed 
of  them.  But  the  next  instant  was  too  late ; 
Haig  was  quickly  following  his  advantage. 

"I  see  you  understand,"  he  pursued. 
"  Well,  then,  to  tell  the  truth,  Mr.  Elridge, 
there  was  a  warrant  sworn  out  for  you  this 
afternoon  before  Magistrate — I  think  it  was 
Magistrate  Jordan." 

The  contractor  started,  but  immediately 
grew  cautiously  overcontemptuous. 

"  Poof !    What's  the  charge  ?  " 

"  There  are  three  charges :  fraud,  con- 
spiracy to  defraud  the  city,  and  bribery." 

Elridge  rose  slowly,  and  walking  to  the 
window,  looked  out  for  a  while,  his  hands, 
deep  in  his  pockets,  loudly  rattling  some  coin. 

John  bided  his  time  and  was  finally  re- 
warded. 

Elridge  turned. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  "  of  course  I'm  not  going 
to  talk  to  you.  It's  all  confounded  nonsense, 
and  you  know  that  as  well  as  I  do.  All  I  want 
to  do  just  now  is  to  get  the  preliminaries  over 
with." 

He  stepped  towards  the  telephone  and 
67 


THE  THINGS  THAT  AEE  CESAR'S 

raised  a  hand  to  take  the  receiver  from  its 
hook. 

"  Wait  a  moment,  please,  Mr.  Elridge !  " 
cried  Haig. 

The  fellow  wheeled  upon  him  sharply. 

"  What  for?  "  he  blustered.  "  I  want  to 
get  my  bail  and  my  lawyer.  Of  course,  I'll 
waive  a  hearing.  I  must  hurry  up  and  ar- 
range things.  I've  more  important  matters 
to  think  of  than  a  lot  of  shyster  political 
tricks.  Go  ahead  and  read  your  warrant." 

"  I  was  afraid  you'd  made  some  mistake," 
said  Haig,  blandly  once  more.  "  I  haven't 
any  warrant." 

"  Why,  what " 

"I  said  only  that  one  had  been  sworn 
out." 

Elridge  almost  fell  into  his  chair.  He 
looked  at  Haig  blankly.  Then  suddenly  his 
whole  face  blazed  into  relief,  into  action. 

"  Oh !  "  he  laughed  hysterically.  "  Then 
you're  from  Billy?  Why  in  thunder  didn't 
you  say  so?  Well,  they'll  never  serve  their 
warrant.  I'm  just  ready  to  scoot,  and  they 
can't  prove  anything  on  Billy  without  me. 
68 


IN  THE  STATE  OF  DENMARK 

But  why  did  he  send  such  a  stupid  ass  as 
you? " 

"I  think  you  again  misapprehend  me," 
corrected  John.  "I  am  not  from  'Billy,' 
whoever  he  is." 

"  What  I  Then  who  the  devil  are  you 
from?" 

"  The  Globe-Express." 

"  Huh  ?  Oh,  no ;  no  you're  not.  The  Ex- 
press would  be  with  us  if  it  was  really  on." 

"As  to  that,  I  don't  know  anything.  I 
was  sent  here  by  men  who  ought  to  be  better 
informed  than  I  am  on  such  matters — by  Mr. 
Fealy,  our  city  editor,  and  by  Mr.  Thring, 
our  editor-in-chief." 

"  Oh,  no  you  don't !  You're  from  the 
other  side.  You're  from  the  Courier." 

Here  was  a  puzzling  state  of  affairs,  but 
for  answer  Haig  displayed  his  new  police- 
card. 

"  Well,  what  does  the  Express  want,  any- 
how? "  asked  Elridge. 

"An  interview,"  John  replied.  "I  was 
sent  here  to  get  it,  and  I've  had  the  word  of 
the  men  I  mentioned — though  I  suppose 
G9 


THE  THINGS  THAT  ARE  CESAR'S 

that's  no  business  of  yours — that  they  intend 
to  print  it  to-morrow  morning." 

"  Then  I  don't  know  what's  happened. 
But  I  can't  stop  to  worry  over  your  fool  pa- 
per. I'll  have  to  cut.  And  anyhow,  you  may 
just  lay  to  one  thing:  you  won't  get  any  in- 
terview out  o'  me  if  I  have  to  kick  you  down- 
stairs." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Haig,  "  but  I  fancy 
I've  got  about  all  that's  necessary." 

Elridge,  the  rat-like  eyes  now  bulging 
from  his  head,  rushed  upon  the  reporter  with 
apoplectic  cheeks  and  trembling  forefinger, 
which  he  shook  in  John's  unmoved  face. 

"Print  it!"  he  yelled.  "Print  it,  then, 
and  be  damned !  Every  word'll  be  libellous, 
and  I'll  bankrupt  your  paper  and  have  you 
all  in  jail  before  I'm  done  with  you.  I  only 
wish  you  would  print  it !  " 

"We  will,  Mr.  Elridge,  we  will.  But 
don't  talk  about  libel."  He  waved  a  bit  of 
paper  in  the  air.  "  You  remember  your  let- 
ter to  Belle?" 

The  contractor  snatched  at  and  secured 
the  paper,  but  Haig  had  suffered  another  in- 
70 


IN  THE  STATE  OF  DENMARK 

spiration,  and  was  already  following  a  dar- 
ing plan  of  campaign. 

"  That  is  only  an  empty  envelope,"  he 
said,  calmly  enough.  "  The  letter,  I  am  sorry 
to  say,  is  at  the  office.  You  see,  we  know  all 
about  it.  Come  now,  I'll  tell  you  what  I'll  do. 
I  know  there's  bigger  game  in  this  than  you, 
so  I'll  'phone  Fealy,  and  I  think  I  can  ar- 
range it  that  if  you'll  come  away  from  here 
out  of  danger  and  give  me  a  signed  statement, 
I'll  agree  not  to  use  a  word  of  this  story — 
that  is,  the  part  of  it  that  I  know  about — 
until  you're  safe  at  least  out  of  the  State." 

Something  in  his  air  must  have  carried  a 
degree  of  conviction  to  the  breast  of  the  pan- 
ic-stricken Elridge,  for  the  man  fell  at  once 
into  a  fit  of  tripping  pledges,  expostulations, 
and  excuses,  from  the  total  incoherence  of 
which  Haig  escaped  to  the  telephone,  where 
he  was  soon  in  animated  conversation  with 
his  delighted  city  editor,  to  whom  he  made  as 
clear  as  possible  the  state  of  the  case. 

"  This  man,"  he  concluded,  in  a  desperate 
effort  to  conceal  the  disgust  which  was  fast 
overmastering  his  excitement,  "  says  he'll 
71 


THE  THINGS  THAT  ARE  CAESAR'S 

give  up  a  written  confession — I'll  see  that  it's 
as  detailed  as  possible — providing  we  pass 
our  word  not  to  print  the  thing  for  two 
weeks.  He  wants  that  much  additional 
chance  to  get  away." 

"  All  right,"  came  Fealy's  answer.  "  If 
we  don't  do  as  he  says  we're  sure  to  lose  a 
beat,  and  if  he  sticks  to  his  bargain  we  ought 
to  get  a  good  one.  Be  sure,  though,  to  see 
that  he  don't  fake  you.  You  can  promise  him 
anything  for  me  just  so  long  as  it'll  get  the 
story.  Take  him  to  a  private  room  at  the 
Hamilton,  and  don't  spare  expense." 

Thus,  within  fifteen  minutes  they  were  in 
a  cab,  and  by  the  time  the  hour  struck,  El- 
ridge,  in  the  crimson-plush  parlour  of  a 
down-town  hotel,  had  snatched  up  his  suit- 
case and  was  handing  Haig  a  hurried  but 
lengthy  document. 

"  You  promise  me  two  weeks'?  "  he  asked. 

"  Two  weeks,"  John  made  answer. 

"  Well,  you  see  that  I  have  to  trust  you. 
It's  all  up  to  you.  Here.  Look  this  thing 
over;  see  if  it's  all  there,  and  then  I  must 
bolt." 

72 


IN  THE  STATE  OF  DENMARK 

Haig  had  been  suffering  from  a  moral 
reaction,  and  had  refrained  from  superin- 
tending the  writing.  He  was  beginning  to  re- 
cover from  the  tempestuous  attack  of  that 
intermittent  fever  technically  known  as  the 
news  sense,  and  was  rather  ashamed  of  the 
almost  involuntary  and  certainly  thoughtless 
part  he  had  played  in  the  whole  wretched 
drama.  But  now  that  he  was  in  for  it,  there 
remained  an  obvious,  if  unpleasant,  duty  to 
be  performed  in  behalf  of  his  employers.  He 
must  see  that  Elridge  had  stuck  to  his  part 
of  the  bargain. 

He  took  up  the  damp,  scrawled  sheets. 
Considering  the  man's  emotion,  he  had  been 
wonderfully  clear  and  marvellously  exact  as 
to  detail.  The  confession,  even  though  un- 
supported and  that  of  a  runaway,  carried 
conviction  along  with  it.  Its  story  ran  at 
first  very  much  as  he  had  begun  to  expect  it 
should.  The  other  contractors  had  been 
bought  off,  their  envelopes  opened,  the  bids 
changed,  and  several  members  of  the  city 
councils  sealed,  with  golden  wafers,  to  help 
and  silence.  All  this  was  explicit.  Names, 
6  73 


THE  THINGS  THAT  AEE  CJESAR'S 

witnesses,  and  often  dates  were  supplied. 
And  then,  at  the  close,  with  a  similar  terrible 
exactness,  with  a  like  multitude  of  careful, 
shameless  detail,  with  the  same  unmistakable 
note  of  authenticity,  there  followed  a  state- 
ment calculated  to  convince  even  John  Haig 
that  Elridge  had  been  all  along  acting  under 
the  personal  direction  of  another  man;  that 
he  had  been,  in  his  every  crime,  merely  this 
man's  representative;  that  he  had  been  only 
the  hand  that  executed  the  orders  of  an  ut- 
terly splendid  and  unscrupulous  brain.  The 
principal  was  Billy  Gwynne. 

Haig  had  been  skimming  through  the  pa- 
per until  he  came  to  that.  He  doubted  his 
eyes ;  read  back  several  paragraphs,  saw  the 
inevitable  approach  of  the  revelation,  and 
then  finished  the  account  word  by  word. 

As  he  ended  the  consequences  of  the  thing 
were  blazoned  before  him.  The  wealth  of 
circumstance,  the  thousand  chances  of  cor- 
roboration,  the  mention  of  places  and  dates, 
left,  in  his  bewildered  mind,  no  room  for 
doubt.  The  world,  he  fancied,  would,  with 
all  the  force  of  its  old  love  for  tearing  the 
74 


IN  THE  STATE  OF  DENMARK 

mighty  from  their  scats,  be  convinced  far 
more  easily  and  speedily. 

He  held  out  the  paper. 

Elridge  was  at  a  loss  to  gather  his  mean- 
ing. 

"  Here ! "  commanded  Haig. 

"What  do  you  meant" 

"  Mean!  I  mean  I  want  you  to  take  back 
this  paper  of  yours  and  tear  it  up  before  my 
eyes — and  then  go." 

For  a  moment  Elridge  gazed  at  him  with 
open  mouth  and  empty  eyes.  Then  Haig 
could  see  the  light  of  understanding  flare 
into  the  vulgar  face,  and  the  man,  with  a 
gurgle  of  wild  delight,  snatched  the  paper 
and  crunched  it  between  his  hands. 

The  next  instant,  however,  his  whole  ex- 
pression had  changed,  and  he  was  smoothing 
out  the  document,  carefully,  deliberately,  on 
the  table. 

"  What  are  you  about?  "  asked  John. 

"  Just  this,"  said  Elridge,  turning  in  half- 
defiance.     "  If  your  paper  won't  use  this, 
some  other  one  will.    It's  worth  five  hundred 
dollars  if  it's  worth  a  cent." 
75 


THE  THINGS  THAT  ARE  CESAR'S 

"  Oh,  I  guess  we'd  use  it  all  right  if  we 
got  it!  But  do  you  mean  to  say  that  you 
want  it  to  be  used  ?  Or  would  you  sell  it  only 
for  more  than  I've  offered  you?  Heavens, 
man,  you  surely  don't  mean  that  you  want  it 
to  appear ! " 

"Want  it  to  appear?  Of  course  I  do — 
now.  No,  I  don't  ask  any  more  than  to  get 
out  of  this.  But  I  do  intend  that  this  thing 
shall  be  used.  You  can  bet  your  life  I  do. 
What  do  I  owe  Billy  Gwynne,  that  I  should 
run  away  with  his  dirty  work  all  on  my  shoul- 
ders ?  I  guess  he  thinks  this  is  a  smart  trick 
of  his,  but  I'll  show  him  whether  it  is  or 
not!" 

"  You  must  be  drunk !  How's  he  played 
any  trick  on  you  ?  " 

"  Oh,  don't  take  me  for  such  a  fool !  I  can 
see  through  this  easy  enough.  Something's 
gone  wrong  at  the  front,  and  Gwynne 
thought  he'd  scare  me  and  get  me  to  skip 
so's  the  whole  thing  'd  be  put  on  me.  Well, 
I'll  skip  all  right,  but  I'll  fix  things  first  so's 
he'll  only  wish  he  could  skip  too ! " 

The  fellow  was  leaning  on  the  table,  his 
76 


IN  THE  STATE  OF  DENMARK 

body  shaking,  his  face  distorted  with  malice. 
He  gasped  for  breath  and  then,  as  he  ran  on, 
a  sense  of  conviction  burst  down  the  evident 
motive  of  what  he  said,  and  swept  upon  Haig 
with  a  wild  flood  of  certainty. 

"  Look  here,"  the  man  continued ;  "  you've 
got  your  paper  to  think  about,  haven't  you! 
You  say  they'd  use  this,  and  if  they  sent  you 
out  for  it  I  guess  they  will.  You  look  like  the 
sort  that  do  their  duty.  Well,  who's  your 
duty  to,  eh?  Isn't  it  to  the  sheet  you're  work- 
ing for!  You  can't  throw  them  down  now — 
you  can't  afford  to.  You'd  lose  your  job  in 
a  minute.  This  thing's  a  big  item.  It  means 
the  showing  up  of  about  all  that's  rotten  in 
this  town — and  there's  plenty  of  that.  I'm 
gettin'  away,  but  I'm  only  a  sort  of  State's 
evidence.  You  can  easy  prove  every  word  of 
what  I  wrote.  And  if  Billy  Gwynne  gets  into 
trouble,  it'll  be  about  the  first  time  the  real 
criminal  had  to  suffer  instead  of  the  poor 
ass  he  gets  to  work  for  him." 

Haig's  brain  was  running  like  a  mill-race. 
The  man,  whatever  his  motive,  was,  in  the 
abstract,  right.  John's  duty  was  to  his  em- 
77 


THE  THINGS  THAT  ARE  CESAR'S 

ployers.  If  he  thought  ill  of  the  work  they 
offered  him  he  could  leave  it.  But  he  could 
not  leave  it  without  such  a  notice  as  he 
would  have  expected  from  them,  and  in 
the  mean  time  he  must  furnish  faithful 
service. 

That  was  enough  for  a  man  of  action.  He 
put  out  his  hand. 

"  Give  it  here,"  he  said. 

Elridge  read  his  purpose  in  his  face. 

"  You'll  print  it?  "  he  asked. 

Haig  shuddered  at  the  cunning  of  the 
tone. 

"  I'll  do  my  duty,"  he  replied. 

Elridge  handed  him  the  confession. 

"  You  don't  know  how  much  I  thank  you 
for  all " 

"Don't  thank  me,"  said  John;  "thank 
your  own  rotten  soul.  If  you  want  my  opin- 
ion of  you,  it's  that  you're  a  Judas.  Now 
get  out." 

The  fellow  still  had  it  in  him  to  attempt 
to  bluster. 

"  Look  here,  sir !  "  he  cried.  "  I'd  have 
you  know  that  I  may  be  a  tool,  but  it  was 
78 


IN  THE  STATE  OF  DENMARK 

for  better  men  than  you,  men  with  some 
nerve,  and  I'm  not  going  to  have  you— 

"  You'd  better  get  out,"  said  Haig  calmly. 
"  If  you  don't,  I'll  give  you  something  that 
will  lay  you  up  till  that  warrant's  served." 

Elridge  leaped  to  the  door  and  through 
it.  He  thrust  his  head  again  into  the  room. 

"Don't  forget;  you  said  you'd  give  me 
two  weeks,"  he  whined. 

Haig  was  lighting  a  cigarette. 

"  Two  weeks,"  he  replied,  and  held  the 
burning  match  in  his  fingers  until  he  heard 
Elridge's  footsteps  clattering  down  the 
stairs. 


79 


VI 

DOCTORS  DISAGREE 

FOR  a  man  who  hated  thought  as  much  as 
John  Haig  hated  it,  the  next  quarter-hour 
was  a  difficult  one.  For  some  minutes,  in- 
deed, he  determinedly  thrust  from  him  all 
consideration  of  the  multitude  of  questions 
that  nevertheless  seemed  hammering  at  the 
frail  deal-door  of  the  room.  He  sat  at  the 
marble-topped  table  and  traced  its  anaemic 
pale-blue  veins  until  they  sprang  into  a  hope- 
less tangle  under  his  very  eyes.  He  counted 
over  and  over  again  the  articles  of  cheap  fur- 
niture— the  cane-bottom  chairs  set  squarely 
against  the  walls,  the  orthodox  horse-hair 
sofas,  the  screaming  lithographs  in  frames  of 
white  and  gilt — and  each  time  he  arrived  at 
a  different  result.  He  marvelled  at  the  red 
plush  carpet,  and  lost  himself  in  the  labyrin- 
thian  mazes  of  the  yellow  wall-paper.  He  did 

80 


DOCTORS  DISAGREE 

anything,  in  short,  save  the  thing  that  he 
knew  he  must,  sooner  or  later,  do.  And  then, 
at  last,  the  clang  of  a  car-bell  from  the  street 
woke  him  to  the  fact  of  the  life  of  which  he 
was  now  an  inevitable  portion,  and  enabled 
him  to  bring  himself  together  through  the 
resolve  that  he  would  not  leave  this  gaudy 
place  of  detention — just  as  he  could  not 
escape  from  his  hideous  state  of  indecision — 
until  he  had  definitely  fixed  upon  the  course 
which  he  was  to  pursue. 

To  make  certain  of  his  position,  he  first 
reread  Elridge's  confession,  and  thereby  did 
away  with  every  lingering  hope.  The  result 
of  the  publication  of  the  fellow's  admissions 
was  too  clear  to  admit  of  a  doubt,  and  the 
cat's-paw  who  had  written  it  was  by  this  time 
well  on  the  way  to  freedom. 

Why  was  he!  Who  had  allowed  him  to 
escape,  and  upon  what  authority?  The 
thought  struck  Haig  like  a  blow.  He  even 
rose,  and,  before  he  had  sufficiently  recov- 
ered from  the  shock  to  realize  the  futility  of 
the  action  thus  involuntarily  begun,  made  a 
step  or  two  towards  the  door.  Here  was,  in 
81 


THE  THINGS  THAT  AEE  CESAR'S 

truth,  a  novel  view  of  the  matter  and  a  late 
one.  Though  in  so  doing  he  had  but  fol- 
lowed the  precedents  of  ordained  justice  in 
its  attitude  towards  State's  evidence,  his 
power,  whether  or  no  he  had  been  right  in 
daring  to  sit  as  a  judge,  at  most  did  not  ex- 
tend to  the  dismissal  of  a  confessed,  even  if 
minor,  criminal.  Nor  could  he  find,  as  yet, 
excuse  on  the  ground  of  mere  obedience  to 
orders,  since  he  knew  that  the  next  question 
about  to  present  itself  had  to  do  with  whether 
he  should  obey  those  orders  in  their  funda- 
mental significance  and  surrender  that  con- 
fession to  the  dragon  of  the  press.  He  took 
refuge,  therefore,  in  what,  though  a  seeming 
weakness,  was  still  most  likely  the  simple 
truth.  He  had  been  governed  throughout  the 
afternoon,  first  by  a  series  of  impulses  re- 
sulting from  professional  ignorance,  and  lat- 
terly by  a  confusion  consequent  upon  his  sud- 
den and  unexpected  discovery.  For  what 
was  past  he  could  scarcely,  then,  with  justice, 
hold  himself  to  blame.  Past  it  at  any  rate 
was,  and  the  least  criminal  clean  gone. 
There  now  remained  the  rest  of  the  gang, 
82 


DOCTORS  DISAGREE 

and  with  them  the  consideration  of  a  far 
greater  difficulty,  the  difficulty,  in  a  word,  of 
the  greatest  criminal  of  them  all. 

Haig  got  up  and  strode  to  the  window, 
lighting  another  cigarette  and  seeking 
strength  from  the  busy  panorama  of  the 
strenuous  street. 

What,  after  all,  he  asked  himself,  was 
William  Gwynne  to  him!  The  probable  fa- 
vour of  the  introductory  letter  to  the  paper 
was  obviously  not  here  to  be  considered. 
The  man  was  therefore  at  most  the  father 
of  an  attractive  girl  whom  Haig  had  seen  but 
once.  Perhaps  he  did  love  her,  but  what  of 
that!  It  was  the  girl  he  loved,  and  love  and 
business — not  to  say  love  and  justice — were 
two  entirely  separate  things.  Besides,  he 
stood  here,  he  did  not  doubt,  with  his  hand 
upon  the  knob  of  a  door  which  he  had  but  to 
throw  open  in  order  to  reveal  the  crimes  of 
the  men  who  were  robbing  the  city  and  be- 
traying their  public  trust.  If  he  only  turned 
his  hand,  these  men  would  meet  their  just 
deserts.  If  he  refused,  if  he  but  burned  one 
little  scrap  of  paper,  the  loss  of  which  could 
83 


THE  THINGS  THAT  ARE  CAESAR'S 

so  easily  be  accounted  for — and,  though  he 
never  thought  of  that,  so  well  paid  for  in 
another  quarter — then  the  thieves  would  con- 
tinue in  their  high  estate — for  the  runaway 
would  surely  be  made  a  scape-goat — among 
soft  sounds  and  pleasant  sights  and  beautiful 
faces  that  loved  them. 

There,  alas,  was  the  rub.  It  was  his  first 
personal  experience  with  the  practical  work- 
ing of  the  doctrine  of  vicarious  atonement. 
His  own  crime  he  had  committed  when  sin- 
gularly alone  in  the  world,  and  the  four  walls 
of  his  prison  had  shut  him  in  before  he  could 
learn  of  any  consequent  suffering  to  his  own 
blood  relatives  in  a  distant  State.  But  now 
he  saw  that,  the  wide  world  over,  the  inno- 
cent must  suffer  with  the  guilty  and  for 
them,  must,  in  fact,  suffer  far  more  than 
they.  He  revolted  from  the  gigantic  barbar- 
ity of  it,  he  sickened  at  the  realization  of  the 
broad  sweep  of  the  great  universal  laws 
which  make  for  their  shadowy  goal  with  so 
relentless  a  disregard  of  all  they  crush  in 
their  passage.  Everywhere  he  seemed  to  see 
the  negation  of  the  individual  to  the  moral 
84 


DOCTORS  DISAGREE 

syllogism,  everywhere  the  sacrifice  of  the  one 
to  the  many. 

And  what,  at  last,  of  this  one,  the  one 
whose  face  rose  up  to  him  there  and  pressed 
against  his  own  the  warm  red  lips  of  lifet 
Dream  lips  they  could  not  seem,  charged 
though  they  were  not  with  their  sudden 
laughter,  but  with  unfamiliar  pleading.  The 
picture  grew  until  it  racked  his  soul.  Her 
fingers  tore  at  his  heart-strings,  her  eyes  con- 
victed him.  Those  lips  to  plead !  That  face 
had  never  known  a  sorrow,  never  yet  had 
looked  on  shame.  To  what,  then,  and  why 
was  he  condemning  it?  By  what  right  did 
he,  as  a  god,  sit  all  this  day  in  judgment  who 
still  bore  upon  his  pallid  face  the  mark  of  the 
jail! 

But  with  a  tremendous  effort  he  put  the 
thought  from  him.  Whatever  else  went 
down,  duty  remained.  Privately  he  was, 
argue  as  he  might,  an  employe"  acting  under 
definite  rules.  So  much  of  those  orders  as 
had  been  morally  doubtful  had,  he  reasoned, 
been  already  executed.  He  could  not  see  how 
such  faults  could  in  any  wise  invalidate  what 
85 


followed,  all  of  which  he  conceived  to  be 
righteous  enough.  If  he  did  not  like  his  work 
he  could  give  it  up,  but  not  in  the  midst  of 
an  assignment,  not  by  withholding  that  of 
which  he  could  plainly  never  have  gained 
possession  save  through  his  employers.  The 
confession  belonged  to  them  to  use  as  they 
saw  fit.  The  responsibility  was  no  longer  his 
own.  Having  acquitted  himself  of  his  task 
he  might,  if  he  thought  the  work  unworthy, 
leave  it,  but  not  without  giving  to  those  now, 
by  his  own  consent,  in  authority  over  him  the 
warning  he  would  have  expected  of  them. 
Meanwhile,  he  must  furnish  faithful  service. 
On  the  other  hand,  he  realized  that  his 
duty  had  a  public  bearing  and  command 
upon  him.  Thus  considered,  his  part  would 
enter  into  the  matter  not  at  all.  Here  was 
only  a  duty  to  be  done  by  a  man  who  had 
paid  the  penalty  for  his  own  crime,  had 
started  with  the  slate  cleaned  by  ten  years 
from  a  private  wrong,  against  men  who  lived 
and  moved  luxuriously  and  battened,  not  on 
any  one  person,  but  upon  the  whole  public. 
He  had  betrayed  a  private  confidence,  they 
86 


DOCTORS  DISAGREE 

the  trust  of  a  cityful.  The  rich  and  power- 
ful must  be  as  amenable  to  punishment  as 
the  poor  and  the  weak.  They  would  have  as 
fair  a  chance  as  he  had  had.  Afterward  he 
must  do  what  little  he  could — he  did  not  see 
the  egotism  of  it — to  alleviate  the  wrongs  of 
the  innocent  sufferers;  now  he  must  do  his 
duty. 

He  crammed  the  hateful  paper  into  an 
inner  pocket  and  returned  to  the  office  of  the 
Globe-Express.  The  other  men  were  begin- 
ning to  gather  from  their  afternoon  occupa- 
tions, but  Haig  was  no  sooner  seen  than  he 
was  sent  to  the  room  of  the  city  editor. 

Fealy  met  him  with  beaming  smile  and 
outstretched  hand. 

"Well,  my  boy!"  he  cried,  "you've  got 
it!" 

"  Yes,"  said  Haig  shortly. 

"  I  congratulate  you !  I  congratulate  you 
on  landing  the  biggest  story  that's  broken 
loose  in  this  town  for  five  years!  There 
aren't  many  old  hands  could  'a'  done  it,  and 
I'll  see  that  you're  rewarded  accordingly. 
Now,  then,  tell  me  all  about  it." 
87 


THE  THINGS  THAT  ARE  CESAR'S 

Haig,  instinctively  withholding  the  names 
of  all  others  concerned,  complied  as  well  as 
his  thorough  disgust  with  the  whole  matter 
would  permit  him. 

Fealy  watched  him  closely  through  the 
narrative,  following  every  word,  interject- 
ing a  salient  question  or  two,  and  ever 
and  anon  rubbing  a  pair  of  delighted 
hands.  But  towards  the  end  he  grew  im- 
patient. 

"  So  you  went  to  the  hotel?  "  he  finally  in- 
terrupted. 

"  Yes,  we  went  there,"  continued  John. 
"We  got  the  room " 

"  And  he  wrote  the  confession?  " 

"  Yes." 

"A  full  one?" 

"  So  far  as  I  could  see  he  didn't  omit  a 
single  necessary  detail." 

"  Well,  then,  let's  have  it." 

There  was  a  suggestion  of  greed  in  the 
man's  outstretched  claw  that  made  Haig 
grow  suddenly  cautious. 

"  You're  not  going  to  use  it  at  once? "  he 
asked. 

88 


DOCTORS  DISAGREE 

"  Certainly.  We're  saving  three  columns, 
starting  with  two  on  the  first  page.  Hurry 
up ;  let's  see  it." 

"Why,  Mr.  Fealy,  you — I  thought  that, 
over  the  'phone,  you  gave  me  to  understand 
that  you  weren't  going  to  use  it  for  two 
weeks." 

"  Oh,  what's  that  got  to  do  with  it?  Let's 
have  the  confession." 

"  It's  got  everything  to  do  with  it.  El- 
ridge  wouldn't  have  given  up  if  I  hadn't 
promised  not  to  use  the  stuff  for  a  week." 

"  Well,  I  can't  quibble  with  you.  Let  me 
have  the  story." 

Haig  saw  that  he  was  in  for  a  fight,  and 
his  nostrils  expanded  with  delight  at  this 
final  relief  from  a  strain  which  had  become 
well-nigh  unbearable.  He  had,  however,  as 
he  replied,  perfect  control  of  his  voice : 

"  Excuse  me,"  he  said,  "  but  this  isn't  a 
case  of  quibbling.  By  your  authority  I 
promised  this  man  something,  and  because  I 
promised  him  he  entered  into  a  contract  with 
me." 

Fealy,  between  awakening  indignation 
7  89 


and  a  genuine  amazement,  hammered  the 
table  with  his  red  fist. 

"  Look  here,  you  young  fool  1 "  he  shouted. 
"  I  don't  allow  my  reporters  to  talk  to  me  in 
that  way,  and  I'll  have  you  know  it  at  once ! 
You've  landed  a  good  story  and  it's  gone  to 
your  head,  so  I'll  be  easy  on  you  this  one 
time,  but  it's  got  to  end  right  here.  Give  me 
that  confession." 

"  No,"  said  John  Haig. 

Fealy  sprang  to  his  feet  with  a  bound 
that  shook  the  whole  frail  room,  sent  his 
crashing  chair  to  bits  on  the  floor  behind 
him,  and  swept  a  pile  of  ancient  papers 
in  a  cloud  of  dust  to  the  reporter's  very 
shoes. 

For  a  moment  he  could  not  speak  at  all. 
His  face  was  purple  with  anger,  his  eyes 
snapped  fire,  yet  behind  it  all  there  was  evi- 
dent a  sense  of  unreality,  a  seeming  in- 
ability to  understand  the  possibility  of  such 
flat  disobedience  of  orders.  Expecting  a  tor- 
rent of  vituperation,  Haig  stood  bravely  to 
his  post.  But  the  torrent  was  withheld. 
Suddenly  the  city  editor  mastered  his  pas- 
90 


DOCTORS  DISAGREE 

sion,  and  in  a  voice  measured  though  shaken 
said: 

"  Mr.  Haig,  you  will  give  me  that  story  at 
once,  and  then  go  out  of  this  office  for  good. 
We  do  not  want  you  about  here  any  more." 

"  Very  well,"  responded  John.  "  I'll  go, 
but  I'll  take  the  story  along  with  me." 

Then  the  torrent  descended.  It  was  all 
the  worse  for  the  temporary  delay,  and  it 
was  sufficiently  violent  to  meet  every  require- 
ment of  the  occasion.  Fealy  damned  the  re- 
porter to  the  nethermost  hell,  and  when  he 
paused  it  was  but  for  breath. 

"  You're  a  thief,"  he  succinctly  concluded, 
"  a  common  thief — that's  what  you  are !  That 
story  belongs  to  us,  and  if  you  take  it  out  of 
this  room  I'll  see  that  you're  arrested." 

"  The  story,"  replied  Haig,  hot  with  the 
sting  of  the  last  insult,  "  doesn't  belong 
to  you  until  a  week  from  to-day.  In  fact,  I 
don't  know  that  it  belongs  to  you  at  all,  and 
I'm  sure  you  couldn't  arrest  me  for  doing 
what  I  please  with  it.  At  any  rate,  I  know 
you  wouldn't  dare  to  stand  the  showing-up. 
But  if  I'm  a  thief,  what  do  you  think  you 
91 


THE  THINGS  THAT  AEE  CESAR'S 

are?  You've  got  this  thing  on  certain  pre- 
tences, and  I  propose  to  see  that  they're  not 
false  ones.  At  first  I'd  have  given  you  the 
story  if  you'd  just  have  promised  again  not 
to  use  it  till  the  right  time.  Now,  I  know  that 
if  you  can't  be  straight  with  Elridge  you 
can't  be  straight  with  me.  With  this  thing  in 
my  pocket  I  can  get  on  any  paper  in  town, 
and  you  know  it.  You're  a  cheat,  Mr.  Fealy ; 
you're  the  kind  of  man  I  wouldn't  play  cards 
with,  and  I'm  sure  I'm  as  glad  to  be  quit  of 
such  company  as  you  say  you  are  to  have 
me  go." 

He  was  about  to  turn  on  his  heel,  but  al- 
most at  once  Fealy  began  again,  this  time 
along  a  new  line  of  attack. 

The  man  well  knew  the  value  of  the  story, 
and  saw  that  for  the  present,  at  least,  he  was 
in  Haig's  hands.  He  accordingly  made  the 
one  play  whereby  he  could  avoid  an  ultimate 
loss  of  this  important  piece  of  news. 

"  I  may  have  been  hasty,  Mr.  Haig,"  he 

said,  "but  you'd  better  let  me  talk  to  you. 

It's  this  way,  you  see:  A  reporter  is  like  a 

soldier,  and  of  course  his  superior  officer 

92 


DOCTORS  DISAGREE 

can't  have  any  insubordination.  That's  all 
there  is  about  it.  Now,  a  soldier,  too,  must 
obey  orders,  and  so  must  a  reporter.  He's 
got  to  do  what  he's  told,  and  not  ask  any 
questions.  He's  not  to  blame  for  obeying  or- 
ders. If  the  orders  are  bad  it's  only  the  man 
who  gives  'em  who's  to  blame.  Well,  I'm  the 
man  who  gives  the  orders  in  this  shop.  You 
hand  me  over  that  confession — that's  the  or- 
der now.  You  don't  know  what  use  I'm  going 
to  make  of  it.  I'll  even  go  so  far  as  to  let  you 
off  of  the  writing  a  line  about  the  thing. 
Then,  you  see,  if  anybody's  to  blame,  it's 
me." 

Haig  despaired  of  making  himself  clear. 
However — 

"  Mr.  Fealy,"  he  said,  "  I  don't  see  it  that 
way.  If  there's  a  bad  law  it  isn't  a  citizen's 
duty  to  obey  it,  and  even  if  a  reporter  is  like 
a  soldier — which  I  don't  believe  he  is — I  can't 
see  how  a  soldier  can  think  that  he's  got  to 
obey  orders  that  make  him  do  criminal 
things." 

"  But  you  agree  to  obey  orders  when  you 
come  on  a  paper,"  argued  Fealy.  "  Every  re- 
93 


THE  THINGS  THAT  ARE  CESAR'S 

porter  who  takes  a  job  on  a  local  staff  agrees 
to  do  what  he  is  told  to  do,  and  the  city  edi- 
tor who  takes  him  on  agrees  to  take  all  the 
blame." 

"  If  I  wrote  a  libel  I'd  be  as  open  to  arrest 
for  it  as  you'd  be." 

"  Oh,  well,  then,  look  at  it  from  another 
way.  This  fellow  Elridge  is  a  rascal.  You'll 
only  be  handing  him  over  to  justice  by  print- 
ing the  thing  as  soon  as  possible." 

"  Then  a  quicker  way  would  be  to  go  out 
and  warn  the  police,  and  the  quickest  would 
have  been  not  to  have  given  him  the  first 
chance  of  escape." 

"  But  you  can't  think  that  you  can  be  held 
to  a  bargain  that  you  practically  made  under 
pressure." 

"I  wasn't  under  half  the  pressure  he 
was,  and  he  lived  up  to  his  part  of  the 
contract." 

"  But  he's  a  criminal,  and  you  don't  have 
to  keep  faith  with  a  criminal.  Why,  the  de- 
tectives do  this  sort  of  thing  every  day." 

"  Well,  Mr.  Fealy,  I'm  not  a  detective,  I'm 
a  reporter.  I  may  be  a  poor  one,  but  I'm 
94 


DOCTORS  DISAGREE 

not  a  detective,  anyhow.  The  two  jobs  are 
mighty  different,  though  you  seem  to  be  get- 
ting them  mixed  up  right  along.  When  I 
make  a  bargain  I  stick  to  it  as  long  as  the 
other  fellow  does." 

"  Then  you're  compounding  a  felony ; 
you're  letting  this  fellow  get  away." 

"  They  were  your  orders  at  the  start,  and 
for  the  rest,  I'm  just  following  a  method  of 
the  courts  and  the  police  you  like  to  set  up 
as  examples  of  squareness  in  this  sort  of 
thing.  I  let  him  turn  a  sort  of  State's  evi- 
dence so  as  to  get  the  bigger  fish." 

For  Fealy  this  statement  contained  a  bit 
of  fresh  news. 

"  You  mean  to  say,"  he  asked,  "  that  there 
are  bigger  fish?  " 

Once  more  an  instinctive  nicety  kept  Haig 
from  mentioning  any  name  other  than  that 
already  known  to  Fealy,  but  he  replied: 

"About  the  biggest  in  the  puddle,  I 
judge." 

"  And  you've  got  the  details  there?  " 

"  Yes." 

"Who  is  it?" 

95 


THE  THINGS  THAT  ARE  CAESAR'S 

"  I  can't  tell  you  until  two  weeks  from  to- 
night." 

But  again  Fealy's  news-sense  got  the  bet- 
ter of  his  discretion. 

"  Oh,  hang  your  morals ! "  he  cried. 
"  See  here,  I'm  boss  here,  and  I  want  that 
story.  Am  I  going  to  get  it  or  not,  that's  the 
question?  " 

"  I  want  you  to  listen  to  me  for  a  minute, 
Mr.  Fealy.  I  want  you  to  hear  my  side  of 
this  case.  The  story  will  keep  as  well  as 
not.  If  that  warrant  was  sworn  out  secretly, 
nobody'll  be  the  wiser  for  a  week  at  least,  and 
even  if  the  other  papers  do  get  on,  you  can 
print  the  same  thing  they  print — you'll  get 
the  same  news  from  the  same  source — and 
then  you  can  spring  this  beat  on  them  when 
the  time's  up.  I  promise  you  it'll  keep,  and 
I  promise  you  that,  from  your  point  of  view, 
it's  big  enough  to  be  worth  your  while.  I 
don't  want  to  be  nasty;  all  I  want  to  do  is 
to  keep  my  bargain.  It's  a  fair  one,  and  I'll 
nurse  this  thing  in  the  mean  time  and  verify 
it,  so  that  it  will  be  all  the  better  in  the  end." 

He  had  hardly  finished,  and  Fealy  had 
96 


DOCTORS  DISAGREE 

not  had  a  moment  in  which  to  frame  a  very 
evidently  angry  reply  when  there  was  a  noise 
at  the  door,  and  Mr.  Thring,  with  his  usual 
air  of  uncertain  hurry  and  innocuous  detach- 
ment, entered  the  room. 

"  Well,  how's  the  story!  "  he  asked,  saun- 
tering up  to  the  desk. 

Haig  at  once  descended  from  his  high  key, 
but  Fealy  remained  at  top  pitch. 

"  Why,  this  fellow  says  he  promised  El- 
ridge  to  hold  the  thing  for  two  weeks,  and  re- 
fuses to  give  it  up." 

"  Mr.  Fealy  ordered  me  to  promise  him," 
corrected  Haig. 

"It  was  the  only  way  to  get  the  story," 
explained  the  city  editor. 

Mr.  Thring  nervously  fumbled  with  some 
coins  in  his  high-cut  pocket. 

"  Hum-m,"  he  said.    "  That's  a  pity." 

"  A  pity?  "  gasped  Fealy.    "  Why!  " 

"  Because,  if  we  made  a  promise  to  the 
blackguard,  of  course  we'll  have  to  keep  it." 


97 


vn 

AFTER-DINNER  CRIMINOLOGY 

WHATEVER  else  might  be  said  of  him, 
Billy  Gwynne  was  essentially  a  product  of 
the  latter  part  of  the  nineteenth  century,  a 
creature  of  contemporary  conditions.  In  any 
previous  age  the  man  would  have  been  im- 
possible. Under  imperial  Rome  he  would 
have  been  a  colonial  governor;  in  mediaeval 
Germany  he  would  have  been  a  robber-baron ; 
and  under  the  first  French  Empire  he  might 
even  have  developed  into  a  Talleyrand;  but 
at  no  other  time  preceding  the  present  could 
he  have  been  precisely  Billy  Gwynne. 

Physically  he  was  a  man  of  commanding 
height  and  breadth,  always  carefully  dressed 
and  to  the  best  advantage.  He  had  gray  hair 
and  mustache,  heavy  eyebrows  of  the  same 
colour,  which  contrasted  strongly  with  a  face 
of  uniform  crimson,  and  sharp  gray  eyes 
98 


AFTER-DINNER  CRIMINOLOGY 

that  nevertheless  conveyed  the  general  im- 
pression of  kindliness.  But  he  was  a  person 
of  too  wide  an  experience  and  too  broad  a 
knowledge  of  the  world  to  allow  these  trifling 
superficialities  to  become  an  adequate  ex- 
pression of  his  genuine  self. 

William  Stuyvesant  Logan  Gwynne  was 
his  real  name,  and  his  birth  had  been  all  that 
the  name  implies.  He  was  the  youngest  of 
four  sons  born  into  one  of  the  oldest  and  best- 
connected  families  of  the  city,  even  of  the 
country.  It  had  also,  at  one  time,  been  one 
of  the  most  wealthy  families,  but  that  day 
had  passed  a  generation  earlier,  and  the 
young  brothers  had  been  brought  up  behind 
the  scenes  of  poverty-stricken  pride.  They 
had  been  taught  that  this  was  for  them  far 
more  honourable  than  the  convenient  riches 
of  their  embarrassing  friends,  and  they  had 
been  nurtured  on  the  theory  that  the  only 
fit  and  worthy  way  for  them  to  redeem  the 
family  fortunes  was  to  marry  wealth  of  a 
respectability  equal  to  that  of  their  own  pov- 
erty. Above  all,  they  had  been  taught  to 
dread  as  their  final  shame  the  slightest  con- 
99 


THE  THINGS  THAT  ARE  CESAR'S 

tamination  of  bourgeoisie,  and  nothing,  they; 
had  always  been  told,  was  quite  so  bourgeois 
as  politics.  This  lesson  three  of  them  had 
learned  so  well  that,  being  puny  and  unat- 
tractive youths,  they  had  died  bachelors 
within  a  short  time  after  their  parents,  quite 
as  poor  and  as  proud  and  as  lonely  as  they. 

Not  so  William.  He  had  mastered  a  les- 
son of  a  very  different  sort;  one,  in  fact, 
which  he  was  afterward  reported  to  have 
summed  up  in  the  phrase  that  he  had,  early  in 
life,  got  his  "  belly  full  of  shabby  gentility." 
Certainly  he  developed,  in  the  first  flush  of 
boyhood,  a  remarkably  persistent  instinct 
for  what  is  commonly  known  as  the  main 
chance.  In  the  pursuit  of  that  goal  he  never 
bothered  about  the  companions  with  whom 
he  had,  on  the  way,  to  associate,  and  when  he 
would  return  home  from  an  unheard-of  por- 
tion of  the  city  with  his  pockets  filled  by 
other  boys'  marbles,  the  knowledge  of  the 
sort  of  lads  upon  whom  he  had  preyed  was 
far  more  painful  to  his  family  than  the  sim- 
ple fact  of  his  tendencies  towards  gaming. 
Neither  fact,  however,  either  then  or  later, 
100 


AFTER-DINNER  CRIMINOLOGY 

ruffled  the  equanimity  of  William.  His  games 
of  chance,  judging  from  their  invariable  re- 
sults, were  games  that  he  had  thoroughly 
mastered,  and,  having  by  some  freak  of  ata- 
vism been  born  with  the  power  of  attracting 
and  using  men,  he  so  consistently  developed 
his  talent  to  its  extremest  limit  that,  by  not 
inquiring  too  closely  into  the  nature  of  the 
material  he  used  so  long  as  he  could  safely 
use  it,  he  had  some  years  since  become  some- 
thing possible  only  in  the  present  era,  and 
rare  enough  even  there — a  successful  gentle- 
man-political boss. 

So  far  as  Society  was  concerned,  he  had 
always  struck  it  squarely  between  the  eyes. 
He  believed  that  a  Gwynne  had  to  be  ac- 
cepted as  a  Gwynne  per  sc,  and  Society  paid 
tribute  to  his  perspicacity  by  kissing  the 
hand  that  dealt  the  blows. 

The  first  and  worst  of  these  blows  was 
his  marriage.  Had  all  other  things  been 
equal,  Billy  Gwynne  would  naturally  have 
preferred  to  choose  a  woman  unmistakably 
of  his  own  set.  But  other  things  were  just 
then  by  no  means  equal.  There  had  been  in 
101 


THE  THINGS  THAT  ARE  C^SAK'S 

the  army  of  finance  a  general  panic,  which 
had  left  dowerless  the  some  half-dozen  girls 
who  would  otherwise  have  been  in  every  re- 
spect eligible,  and  there  was  fortune  and 
power  to  be  had  by  an  alliance  with  the 
daughter  of  a  certain  soap-manufacturer 
turned  senator.  Gwynne  had  himself  suf- 
fered not  a  little  in  the  slump  of  the  market. 
Consequently  he  did  not  hesitate.  He  chose 
for  fortune  and  power  and  soap. 

The  result,  as  always,  proved  his  wisdom. 
Louise  Divins  was  a  quiet,  pleasant-looking 
woman,  a  woman,  indeed,  almost  too  "  prop- 
er "  for  the  proper  sphere  whereinto  she  was 
thus  translated.  A  bit  old-fashioned,  the 
death  of  her  father,  however,  soon  made  up 
for  all  her  shortcomings,  and  left  to  his  only 
child  the  entire  sum  total  of  a  most  substan- 
tial property. 

The  receipt  of  this  little  addition  did  not 
change  Gwynne's  course  in  life.  Bather  it 
confirmed  it ;  went,  in  brief,  towards  making 
it  more  severely  certain.  Consequently,  upon 
the  birth  of  Phyllis  he  did  gather  up  again — 
and  easily  enough — the  loose  ends  of  his 
102 


AFTER-DINNER  CRIMINOLOGY 

social  existence,  but  he  went  deeper  and 
deeper  into  politics.  He  went,  to  tell  the 
truth,  so  deep  that  he  was  never  seen  to  rise 
above  the  surface  of  the  ocean  of  publicity. 
And  that  was  what  he  wanted.  His  ambi- 
tion was  to  sit,  like  Neptune,  safely  beneath 
the  tempests  of  the  wave-tops,  there  to  con- 
trol from  his  sequestered  throne  tempest  and 
current  as  well.  The  name  of  William 
Gwynne  seldom  appeared  in  the  lists  of  cam- 
paign committees.  It  was  never  seen  among 
the  "  spellbinders,"  much  less  upon  a  ticket. 
Yet  the  hand  of  Billy  Gwynne  never  let  slip 
its  hold  of  the  reins  that  drew  tight  the  bit  in 
the  mouths  of  the  public  horses,  and  his  whip 
was  ever  silently  playing  over  those  horses' 
heads.  At  the  door  of  his  large  office  in  the 
most  elaborate  business  building  there  was 
no  card  to  indicate  that  the  lessee  engaged  in 
any  occupation  whatever.  But  the  anteroom 
was  always  thronged  with  a  motley  gather- 
ing, and  from  the  innermost  chamber  went 
forth  that  still  small  voice  which  predeter- 
mined every  political  movement  in  the  city, 
from  the  election  of  a  mayor  and  the  grant- 
103 


THE  THINGS  THAT  ARE  CESAR'S 

ing  of  a  franchise  to  the  appointment  of  a 
suburban  policeman  or  the  dismissal  of  a 
janitor  from  a  coloured  school.  Gwynne' s 
lieutenants  included  every  municipal  and 
State  office-holder  in  the  town,  and  the  rank 
and  file  of  his  army  spread  from  the  main 
offices  of  the  great  corporations  until  it  was 
finally  lost  in  the  shadows  of  alleys  and  of 
tenements.  How  the  man  had  gained  his  ab- 
solute control  nobody  could  precisely  tell. 
Nobody  would  or  could  directly  connect  him 
with  any  one  movement  of  the  machine.  But 
everybody  knew  that  the  machine  was  run 
to  please  him,  and  Billy  Gwynne  knew  who  it 
was  that  ran  it. 

This  was  the  method  that  made  it  possible 
for  the  man  to  maintain  the  respectable  fig- 
ure which  was  his  secondary  delight.  Soci- 
ety feared  him  and  was  both  unable  and  un- 
willing to  prove  evil  against  him.  He  was 
successful,  pleasant,  and,  above  all,  he  was  a 
Gwynne.  Society  refused  to  believe  that  so 
seemingly  perfect  a  gentleman  could  be  an 
unscrupulous  jobster,  and  accordingly  re- 
joiced that  one  of  its  members  should  be  di- 
104 


AFTER-DINNER  CRIMINOLOGY 

vinely  commissioned  to  redeem  municipal 
politics.  Bishop  Osgood  would  not,  for  his 
part,  think  that  so  devout  and  charitable  a 
churchman  could  be  anything  that  was  at  all 
wrong,  and  so  made  much  of  him  always,  and, 
on  this  Monday  evening  in  particular — the 
Monday  following  Haig's  violent  interview 
with  his  city  editor — had  him  and  his  family 
to  dinner. 

It  was  a  small  party.  Besides  the 
Gwynnes  there  was  only  Marsden  Payne — 
a  stout,  healthy,  happy  young  heir  to  mil- 
lions and  recipient  of  Mrs.  Osgood's  over- 
flowing affections — the  bishop  and  his  wife, 
of  course,  and  Haig. 

John  was  eager  for  another  sight  of  Phyl- 
lis and  for  a  meeting  with  her  father.  The 
few  days  which  had  passed  since  his  inter- 
view with  Elridge  had  not  been  easy  ones. 
Mr.  Thring's  dictum  that  the  Globe-Express 
kept  its  promises  had  secured  him  a  tempo- 
rary secession  of  hostilities ;  but  this  was  at 
best  only  an  armed  peace,  and  its  result  had 
been  but  a  growing  nervousness  and  a  gen- 
eral disgust.  Fealy  had  not  a  word  to  say  to 
8  105 


THE  THINGS  THAT  ABE  CESAR'S 

him  except  in  overloading  him  with  work  and 
sending  him  upon  the  most  nauseating  as- 
signments. Only  the  night  before,  the  story 
of  the  secret  warrant  and  Elridge's  escape 
had  somehow  leaked  out,  and  the  morning  pa- 
pers were  full  of  double-leaded  speculation, 
while  John,  worn  by  hours  of  mental  torture, 
knew  that  he  held  the  key  to  the  situation 
safely  buttoned  against  his  breast. 

Phyllis  greeted  him  with  civil  pleasure, 
even  with  a  degree  of  personal  delight,  for 
her  picture  had  appeared  in  form  enough 
flattering  and  in  place  sufficiently  prominent. 
She  had,  moreover,  all  the  outsider's  inter- 
est in  the  romantic  profession,  and  she 
was  now  at  once  taken  with  the  appearance 
of  this  slim,  straight,  pale  young  man,  quiet 
of  manner  and  faultless  of  dress,  who 
formed  so  great  a  contrast  to  the  redolently 
eligible  and  assiduously  attentive  Marsden 
Payne. 

The  latter,  however,  was  too  zealous  an 
admirer  to  allow  her  either  before  or  dur- 
ing the  dinner  more  than  a  word  with  Haig, 
and,  as  if  not  content  with  this,  when  the 
106 


AFTER-DINNER  CRIMINOLOGY 

cloth  had  been  removed  and  the  women 
had  left  the  candle-lighted  room,  he  pro- 
ceeded, while  touching  a  match  to  his  cigar- 
ette, to  administer  another  shock  to  the  re- 
porter. 

"  That's  a  queer  affair,  Mr.  Gwynne,"  he 
began,  "  about  that  fellow  Elridge." 

Haig  shot  a  swift  glance  at  the  politician, 
but  Gwynne,  raising  a  steady  glass  to  his 
lips,  was  only  mildly  interested. 

"  Very  odd,"  he  granted,  "  from  what  I 
could  gather  from  the  papers." 

"  I  am  afraid,"  said  the  bishop,  "  that  it  is 
only  another  form  of  the  old  story  of  cor- 
rupt politics.  It  is  a  pity  we  can't  have  more 
men  like  you,  Mr.  Gwynne,  interested  in  our 
public  affairs." 

"  Thank  you.  But  I  hardly  think  this  can 
be  called  a  political  matter.  The  charges 
weren't  printed,  of  course,  and  the  whole 
story  was  very  vague,  but  it  looks  to  me  more 
like  mere  business  rottenness.  If  the  man 
had  been  hand  in  glove  with  corrupt  politi- 
cians he  wouldn't  have  felt  the  need  of  run- 


ning away." 


107 


THE  THINGS  THAT  ARE  CESAR'S 

Haig  leaned  well  over  the  table. 

"  Not  unless  they  had  a  pretty  strong  case 
against  him,"  he  suggested. 

"But  he  did  stand  in  with  some  politi- 
cians," persisted  Payne.  "I  dare  say  you 
must  have  met  him  now  and  again,  Mr. 
Gwynne?" 

Gwynne  was  cutting  a  cigar-end. 

"  Now  and  again,"  he  carelessly  assented. 

"What  sort  of  a  fellow  did  he  seem  to 
be!" 

"I  didn't  see  enough  of  him  to  judge. 
Commonplace,  I  suppose,  or  I'd  have  remem- 
bered him  better." 

Haig  drew  a  long  breath.  This  man  must 
be  madly  confident. 

"I  can't  help  hoping  they  won't  catch 
him,"  he  ventured. 

Gwynne  smiled. 

"Why  not?"  he  asked.  "I  hope,  Mr. 
Haig,  you're  not  one  of  those  sentimental 
people  who  always  feel  sorry  for  a  man  just 
because  he's  caught  stealing." 

"  Oh,  I  don't  think  John's  that,"  the  bish- 
op nervously  interposed,  "  but  I  confess  that 
108 


AFTER-DINNER  CRIMINOLOGY 

I  myself  always  have  some  sympathy  in  these 
cases." 

"  One  always  feels  that  it's  only  the 
scape-goat  that's  caught,"  remarked  Haig 
dryly.  He  was  peevishly  intent  upon  making 
Gwynne  feel. 

"And  we  never  know  what  temptations 
he  has  met  with,"  added  Bishop  Osgood. 

Gwynne's  red  face  grew  a  shade  redder. 
He  turned  to  the  churchman. 

"  It  is  all  very  well  for  you  to  feel  that 
way,"  he  said.  "  It  does  •  you  honour,  of 
course,  and  all  that,  but,  as  a  practical  man, 
I  can't  see  why,  if  a  fellow's  guilty,  he 
shouldn't  suffer.  That's  what  the  law's  for. 
If  there  are  bigger  criminals  in  the  thing, 
hook  them  too,  but  that's  no  reason  why  the 
little  scoundrels  shouldn't  get  their  deserts." 

"  Hear,  hear !  "  cried  Payne. 

"  I'm  not  denying  that "  began  the 

bishop. 

"  Nor  I,"  interpolated  John. 

"  But  I  must  admit,"  the  clergyman  con- 
tinued, his  placid  blue  eyes  narrowing  incon- 
gruously, "to  more  sympathy  for  the  little 
109 


THE  THINGS  THAT  ABE  CESAR'S 

fellows,  as  they  call  them.    They're  generally 
so  much  weaker." 

There  are  few  things  so  delightful  to  the 
best  laymen  as  baiting  a  cleric  with  his  own 
precepts,  and  in  the  good-natured  discussion 
which  followed  this  declaration,  Bishop  Os- 
good  needed  all  the  support  which  John, 
amazed  at  Gwynne's  words,  and  hurt  by  the 
unintended  slurs  of  Payne,  could  give  him. 

At  last  it  was  Haig  who  thus  grew  a  trifle 
ruffled, 

"  Your  attitude,"  he  said,  addressing  his 
two  adversaries,  "is  as  one-sided  as  you 
think  ours.  The  small  criminal  is  easier 
caught  than  the  big  one,  the  offender  against 
person  runs  a  thousand  chances  of  detection 
to  each  one  risked  by  the  offender  against  the 
public.  Both  ought  to  be  punished,  of  course, 
but  you  accept  the  big  one  just  because  he 
isn't  caught,  and  all  pounce  on  the  little  one 
just  because  he  is." 

"  You  can't  want  us  to  take  him  up  after 
he's  caught,"  laughed  Gwynne. 

"  You'll  logically  have  to,  sooner  or  later, 
after  he's  served  his  term." 
110 


AFTER-DINNER  CRIMINOLOGY 

"  Certainly  not,"  rapped  out  Payne. 

"  Why,"  urged  John,  "  he's  paid  the  pen- 
alty, hasn't  het" 

"  And  come  out  worse  than  he  went  in." 
The  boy  had  graduated  from  his  college  three 
years  before,  but  there  was  still  much  of  the 
sophomore  about  him.  "  I  was  reading,"  he 
continued,  "  only  this  morning,  the  latest 
figures  of  criminal  recidivism,  and  they 
showed,  instead  of  the  old  twenty-six  per 
cent,  over  fifty-nine  for  crimes  against  per- 
son, and  nearly  eighty  for  crimes  against 
property." 

"  Then  the  fault  is  ours,"  said  the  bishop. 
"  If  we  say  prison  is  the  place  to  reform  a 
criminal,  we  should  see  to  it  that  prisons  re- 
form." 

"  That  theory  is  all  right,"  interposed 
Gwynne,  "  but  it's  dangerous  in  practice.  It 
gets  to  be  sentimentalism.  Most  of  the  ex- 
periments of  that  sort  have  made  jail  pleas- 
anter  for  the  men  who  go  there  than  the  liv- 
ing they  got  outside." 

"  The  thing  was  never  practised  so  much 
as  it  is  to-day,"  persisted  Payne,  "  and  yet 
111 


THE  THINGS  THAT  ARE  CESAR'S 

there  never  was  so  large  a  percentage  of  re- 
cidivism." 

John  pushed  his  cigarette-ash  angrily  into 
the  plate  before  him. 

"  There's  something  wrong  with  it  all,"  he 
cried  inconsequently.  "  There's  something 
wrong,  and  as  long  as  people  look  at  it  the 
way  you  do  there  won't  be  any  remedy.  So- 
ciety experiments  for  century  after  century, 
and  finally  decides  that  such  and  such  a 
crime  deserves  such  and  such  a  punishment, 
and  then  when  the  man's  taken  the  medicine, 
Society  says  it's  not  enough." 

But  the  bishop  was  professionally  a  man 
of  peace. 

"I'm  afraid,"  he  said,  "that  the  fault 
must  be  in  the  individual,  not  in  society. 
The  thing  you're  speaking  of  naturally  hap- 
pens in  some  cases,  but  not  in  all.  When  it 
does  happen,  it  must  mean  that  the  man  is 
more  guilty  than  was  thought,  and  society's 
repugnance  is  an  instinctive  sense  of  this. 
Society,  after  all,  is  a  part  of  the  world's 
plan,  and  in  that  way  it  may  be  said  to  be 
divine.  Why  shouldn't  it,  then,  be  vouch- 
112 


AFTER-DINNER  CRIMINOLOGY 

safed  such  a  sense,  an  instinctive  social  con- 
science, in  some  way  we  cannot  understand!  " 

Haig  looked  at  his  uncle  in  amazement, 
but  before  he  could  reply  the  bishop  had 
risen,  and  as  they  passed  out  of  the  room 
Gwynne  was  saying: 

"  Anyhow,  the  law's  for  punishment.  It's 
not  for  coddling.  When  a  man's  guilty  you 
can  feel  pretty  sure  he's  not  too  good  for 
anything  that  happens  to  him." 


113 


VIII 

AFTER-DINNER   SENTIMENT 

CLEARLY,  thought  John  with  some  bitter- 
ness, he  had  formed  a  habit  of  receiving 
revelations.  Here,  at  any  rate,  was  another 
one.  Keeling  under  Payne's  brutal  exposition 
of  the  common  attitude  towards  the  criminal, 
and  startled  by  his  uncle's  attitude  of  conces- 
sion towards  society,  he  had  no  chance  to 
conform  with  it  in  spirit,  as  a  necessary  re- 
sult of  social  conditions,  before  he  was  struck 
with  the  words  of  Gwynne.  More  than  they 
had  to  do  with  his  own  ethical  standing  in  the 
just  then  imminent  world  of  fact,  they 
amazed  him,  characteristically  enough,  in 
their  relation  to  the  confession  of  the  miser- 
able Elridge.  Was  it  possible  that  a  man 
who  could  so  bear  himself  under  cross-exami- 
nation upon  the  fellow's  flight  was  really  the 
runaway's  partner?  And,  above  all,  was  it 
possible  that  a  man  who  could  conclude  such 
114 


AFTER-DINNER  SENTIMENT 

a  conversation  with  so  sweeping  a  statement 
seemingly  so  sincerely  uttered,  could  be  him- 
self a  criminal! 

Haig  was  not  the  sort  to  bear  in  the  pres- 
ence of  their  subject  the  strain  of  such  con- 
siderations. He  was  glad  to  find  any  relief 
from  them ;  he  was  delighted  to  find  that  re- 
lief in  Phyllis.  He  could  forget  it  all  the 
moment  he  met  her  smile,  could  forget  the 
very  relation  in  which  she  stood  to  his  rob- 
ber-chief, and  could  grasp  with  innate  social 
skill  the  chance  that  led  Payne  to  another 
end  of  the  drawing-room,  there  to  offer  the 
customary  civilities  to  the  placid  little  Mrs. 
Gwynne  and  the  beaming  and  stout  Mrs.  Os- 
good,  already  attended  by  the  bishop  and  his 
remaining  guest. 

Yet,  as  he  showed  the  way  to  a  conveni- 
ently sequestered  window-seat,  he  was  more 
serious  in  tone  than  the  apparently  trifling 
occasion  warranted  or  Phyllis  could  well  ac- 
count for.  The  girl,  however,  was  as  recep- 
tive as  most  girls  of  her  class,  and  even  more 
than  commonly  adaptive,  so  that  she  quickly 
and  easily  caught  his  mood. 
115 


THE  THINGS  THAT  ARE  CESAR'S 

She  was  dressed  in  white,  with  an  entranc- 
ingly  abortive  suggestion  of  the  fashionable 
cut  to  the  corsage  and,  as  he  drew  back  the 
curtains,  she  raised,  to  brush  a  random  curl 
from  her  slim,  unadorned  neck,  a  girlish  arm 
of  pure  and  graceful  proportions. 

"  So  you  were  pleased  with  your  pic- 
ture ?  "  he  asked  almost  funereally. 

"In  the  paper?  Indeed  I  was!  The 
Globe-Express  made  most  of  the  girls  look 
rather  horrid  a  month  ago,  but  this  one  quite 
flattered  me." 

He  sat  down  beside  her  on  the  narrow 
cushions.  He  had  to  sit  close,  and,  in  order 
to  lean  forward,  he  must  even  place  on  the 
window-sill  an  arm  in  tantalizing  proximity 
to  her  lithe  white  shoulders. 

"  I'm  glad  you  liked  it,"  he  said.  "  And 
now,  I  suppose,  you'll  be  asking  when  it's  to 
be  returned." 

She  looked  up  smiling. 

"  I  haven't— yet." 

He  drew  still  closer. 

"  Then  you  don't — I  mean,  I  mustn't  send 
it?" 

116 


"  You  might  bring  it." 

"  I  should  like  the  mission,  but  not  its  mo- 
tive." 

"But  the  photograph  belongs  to  Bishop 
Osgood,  you  know." 

"  I  am  one  of  his  family  just  now,  and  I 
will  see  that  it  is  delivered  to  this  house  and 
remains  under  his  roof.  Isn't  that  enough  to 
promise?  " 

They  were  both  smiling  now,  but,  for 
all  that,  none  the  less  serious  in  their 
play. 

"You  don't  seem  to  think,"  she  pouted, 
"that  he  wants  it!" 

"  He  can't  help  wanting,"  Haig  returned ; 
"  but  I  know  some  one  who  wants  it  more." 

She  tried  vainly  to  laugh  away  his  mean- 
ing. 

"  It  does  seem,"  she  admitted,  "  after 
your  courage  in  coming  to  me  for  it,  and  the 
diplomatic  way  you  got  it,  and — and  all  the 
nice  things  you've  said  about  it  since,  that 
you  deserve  some  reward." 

"  Oh,  I  don't  claim  to  have  deserved  any- 


thing!" 


117 


THE  THINGS  THAT  AKE  CESAR'S 

"Isn't  merely  doing  one's  duty  enough 
to  deserve  some  recognition? " 

He  took  the  words  for  what,  with  the 
shock  of  a  return,  they  then  meant  to  him. 

"  I  have  wondered  about  that,"  he  said, 
"  about  that  question  of  duty  a  good  deal 
lately.  It's  all  very  well  for  people  to  talk 
about  the  beauty  of  doing  one's  duty,  but  the 
real  beauty  isn't  in  the  doing,  it's  in  the  abil- 
ity to  decide  on  what  one's  duty  is.  Once 
you've  decided  it's  all  plain  sailing,  only  the 
world  is  all  such  a  tangle  that  whenever  there 
arises  the  necessity  of  what  we  call  per- 
forming a  duty  there  are  always  presented 
to  us  two  or  three  possible  courses,  all  lead- 
ing in  different  directions,  yet  any  one 
of  which  might  be  interpreted  as  the  du- 
tiful one  at  the  expense  of  all  the  oth- 
ers." 

He  spoke  with  so  much  feeling  that  she 
looked  up  wondering.  Moral  questions  had 
always  seemed  very  simple  to  her,  because 
she  had  never  been  called  upon  consciously 
to  answer  any. 

"But,"  she  asked,  with  grave  naivete*, 
118 


AFTER-DINNER  SENTIMENT 

"  it's  always  your  duty  to  do  the  thing  that  is 
right,  isn't  it?" 

Ilaig  smiled  indulgently,  but  lost  nothing 
of  his  seriousness  of  tone. 

"  That's  only  another  way  of  putting 
the  question,"  he  forbearingly  explained. 
"  What's  right  at  one  time  isn't  always  at  an- 
other, and  several  very  different  things  may 
be  right  at  the  same  time  just  as  you  happen 
to  look  at  them." 

"  Well,  I  think  there's  always  one  that 
must  be  the  right  one  for  each  person." 

"  If  we  can  only  find  it,  yes.  But  here's  a 
case  in  point:  Suppose  that  I'd  been  sent 
by  my  paper  to  your  house  the  other  night  to 
get  your  photograph  for  something  you 
wouldn't  have  liked  to  have  it  used  for — 
would  it  have  been  my  duty  to  get  it?  " 

"  If  you  could,"  she  laughed.  "  I  sup- 
pose if  it  was  something  that  they  had  no 
right  to  have  it  for,  you  wouldn't  be  bound  to 
get  it.  But  then,  you  see,"  she  concluded 
with  woman-like  practicality,  "  it  wasn't." 

John  looked  at  her  admiringly.  His  own 
hatred  of  ethical  hair-splitting  instantly  re- 
119 


THE  THINGS  THAT  AEE  OESAR'S 

joiced  in  this  downright  rejection  of  his  quib- 
bles, and  his  whole  aesthetic  and  masculine 
sense  grew  suddenly  glad  in  the  sight  of  her 
splendid  womanhood — in  just  her. 

He  suited  his  words  to  the  tune,  ready 
enough,  however,  for  unpracticality  of  an- 
other sort. 

"Do  you  know,"  he  said,  "that  you  are 
the  first  girl  I  met  in  all  this  city?  " 

She  raised  her  delicate  brows. 

"  And  do  you  know,"  he  pressed  the  point, 
"  that  you  are  as  yet  the  only  one  ?  " 

"What,  in  all  this  time?" 

"  In  this  age  of  a  week  or  more." 

"Ah!  but  you'll  soon  remedy  that,"  she 
said  with  the  instinctive  feminine  miserli- 
ness.— These  women  understand  one  an- 
other ! 

"I  shouldn't  want  to  spoil  it,"  he  de- 
clared. 

She  laughed.  She  was  already  used  to 
pleasant  words,  but  there  was  that  quality, 
she  was  dimly,  almost  sweetly  aware,  to  his 
earnestness  which  was  winning  her. 

"  A  reporter,  you  see,"  he  proceeded  with 
120 


AFTER-DINNER  SENTIMENT 

all  the  wisdom  of  the  new  man,  "  is  a  lonely 
sort  of  a  fellow,  so  that  I  don't  know  that  I 
could  remedy  it  soon  even  if  I  wanted  to— 
and  I  don't.  It's  work  until  all  hours  in  all 
sorts  of  unlikely  places,  and  hard  work,  too. 
He  hasn't  a  chance  to  meet  many  nice  people, 
so  that  those  he  does  know  mean  a  great  deal 
to  him — a  very  great  deal." 

The  heavy  curtain  threw  a  grateful  shade 
about  them,  but  above  them  hung  suspended 
from  a  dark  grill-work  a  grotesque  Oriental 
lamp  that  cast  a  soft  red  glow  over  her  face 
and  tinted  her  neck  and  shoulders  as  the  sun- 
light, he  remembered  from  his  far-off  boy- 
hood, tints  the  undulating  crests  of  snow- 
clad  hills  at  dawn.  Out  of  the  shadow  of 
her  hair  her  eyes  glowed. 

The  rest  of  the  party  were  sitting  with 
backs  forgetfully  turned  beyond  still  other 
shadows,  beyond  the  low  sound  of  his  voice. 
He  seemed  very  much  alone  with  her,  so 
much  alone  that  all  his  doubts  and  struggles 
of  an  hour  earlier  belonged  to  a  different 
life,  were  quite  forgotten.  Irrelevantly  he 
remarked  the  sensation. 
9  121 


THE  THINGS  THAT  ARE  CAESAR'S 

"Far  away?"  she  repeated,  adopting, 
however,  much  of  the  hush  that  was  on  his 
own  voice.  "  Only  the  length  of  the  room." 

"  A  thousand  miles,"  he  declared. 

His  words  meant  much,  and  she  knew 
it.  There  was  a  little  pause  in  which  he 
took  from  her  lap  her  fan  that  was  fast- 
ened to  her  girdle  by  a  thin  short  chain 
of  pearls.  The  contact  was  personal,  in- 
timate. He  opened  the  silken  thing 
gently,  reverently,  and  with  a  hand  that 
trembled. 

"  A  room's  length  or  the  world's  length," 
he  finally  pursued,  with  eyes  fastened  on  the 
fan,  with  deep,  low  voice  that  shook ;  "  either 
may  be  the  other — as  you  wish  it." 

He  looked  up  at  her  slowly. 

Her  lips  moved  mechanically ;  her  dreamy 
gaze  was  towards  the  rest  of  the  party,  out 
wistfully  past  them,  past  the  room,  past  all 
things  material.  It  was  fixed,  he  suddenly 
knew,  upon  her  girlhood. 

"As  we  wish  it,"  she  whispered,  and  as 
she  spoke  she  had  conquered,  for  the  mo- 
ment, time  and  fate.  She  was  the  girl  of  that 
122 


AFTER-DINNER  SENTIMENT 

earlier  picture  he  had  first  seen  and  loved  at 
her  home.  He  felt  now  that  he  had  loved  it 
all  along.  He  did  not  know  why;  he  knew 
only  that  he  loved  it. 

"  I  shall  send  you  the  photograph  to-mor- 
row," he  said. 

She  thought  that  she  had  offended  him, 
and  the  thought  hurt  her.  Their  eyes  met. 
There  was  a  tenderness  in  his  that  she  mis- 
took for  the  throbbing  symbol  of  his  wound ; 
for  a  moment  she  struggled  between  pride 
and  pain,  and,  as  she  looked,  pain  con- 
quered. 

"  Then  you  don't  want  it?  "  she  asked. 

He  closed  her  fan  and  returned  it  to  its 
place.  The  touch  of  her  dress  thrilled  his 
voice. 

"  I  want  more  than  that,"  he  began. 
Then,  violently,  he  pulled  himself  together. 
"  I  want,"  he  went  on,  "  that  other  picture — 
that  first  one,  please — if  I  may." 

She  understood  now  far  better  than  did 

he,  and,  although  even  she  could  not  have 

said  why,   her  hazel   eyes  filled.     But   she 

smiled  bravely,  and,  facing  things  as  they 

123 


THE  THINGS  THAT  ARE  CESAR'S 

were,  made  a  single  generous  concession  as 
she  rose  to  join  the  others. 

"  You  may  have  it,"  she  said,  "  upon  one 
condition." 

He  stood  reluctantly  beside  her. 

"  And  that?  "  he  wondered. 

"  Is  that  you  don't,  as  I  have  already  said, 
send " 

"  But  come  ?  "  he  interrupted. 

"  Empty  -  handed,"  she  concluded,  "  at 
three  o'clock." 

But  he  was  as  jubilantly  intent  upon  the 
letter  as  the  spirit. 

"  Then  I  am  to  have  both?  " 

She  nodded  across  the  room,  and  his  eyes 
followed  her  meaning.  Under  that  imperi- 
ous inclination  and  from  their  little  corner  in 
fairyland,  the  good  bishop,  the  volatile  Payne, 
Gwynne,  his  pellucid  wife,  and  the  expansive 
Mrs.  Osgood  seemed  indeed  but  a  very  stupid 
party. 

"Have  them?"  said  Phyllis.  "Why 
not?  With  all  my  admiration  for  your  un- 
cle and  his  wife,  haven't  you  saved  me,"  she 
waved  a  little  bejewelled  hand  of  explanation, 
124 


AFTER-DINNER  SENTIMENT 

and  added,  "  from  that!  And  now,"  she  con- 
cluded, "  guide  me  back  across  all  these  ter- 
rible thousand  miles." 

"  From  the  garden  of  Hesperides,"  said 
John. 

She  guessed  at  the  reference  and  smiled, 
but  Haig  still  lingered. 

"It  is  a  thousand  miles,  then?"  he  per- 
sisted. 

"  The  very  world's  end,"  she  laughed. 

She  had  sternly  resolved  against  all  folly, 
but  in  the  very  instant  of  her  triumph  she 
mutely  suffered  a  spiritual  surrender.  For, 
to  make  assurance  doubly  sure,  she  herself 
raised  a  firm  arm  to  push  aside  a  bit  of  the 
curtain  that  might  be  made  to  serve  a  fur- 
ther impediment  to  their  departure.  In  so 
doing  her  hand  touched  his,  bent  upon  a  simi- 
lar errand,  and  though  the  next  moment  she 
was  hurrying,  almost  fleeing  to  her  father, 
there  had  flashed,  nevertheless,  from  one  to 
the  other  that  message  which,  thus  conveyed, 
is  the  ultimate  confidence. 


125 


IX 

THE   USE  OF  A  DAUGHTER 

IT  was  characteristic  of  him  as  a  man  who 
disliked  all  forms  of  mental  acrobatics  that, 
once  this  sort  of  thing  had  been  forced  upon 
him,  Haig,  until  circumstances  had  rung 
down  the  curtain  upon  the  close  of  the  epi- 
sode, could  not  lastingly  rid  himself  of  his 
part  in  the  performance.  He  found,  then, 
at  once,  that  the  few  minutes  of  ease  which 
he  had  enjoyed  with  Phyllis  were  only  an 
entre-act,  and  no  sooner  had  he  left  her  than 
the  whole  thing  began  over  again. 

What  was  the  meaning  of  this  fearsome 
riddle  of  right  and  wrong  !  All  men,  Jimmie 
Kicker  upon  the  one  hand  and  Marsden 
Payne  upon  the  other,  seemed  to  regard  the 
evil  as  lying  not  in  the  crime,  but  in  its  de- 
tection. He  realized  that  things  had  gone 
too  far  for  him  to  turn  for  help  even  to  the 
126 


THE  USE  OF  A  DAUGHTER 

bishop,  for  the  bishop  had  plainly  displayed 
alarming  symptoms  of  concession  to  the  ap- 
parently accepted  view.  He  saw,  too,  that  all 
men  must  finally  fight  these  battles  alone; 
that  in  the  dark  deeps  of  their  own  souls  they 
must  control  the  tremendous  springs  of 
action.  But  what  he  could  not  see  was  that 
he  was  entering  upon  the  struggle  more  than 
commonly  handicapped  by  convention;  that 
where  others  had  the  experience  of  half  a  life 
to  guide  them  in  their  choice,  he  had  an  ex- 
perience of  only  a  day  for  their  every  year. 
The  claw  of  fate  had  fixed  upon  him  early; 
ten  years  of  prison  had  wiped  out  every  help- 
ful memory  of  the  actual  world,  and  had  left 
him,  timid  and  ingenuous,  with  his  feet  fixed 
upon  tottering  ideals  false  to  established 
fact,  born  afresh  into  life  at  the  age  meant 
for  maturity. 

One  lesson,  however,  he  had  learned  from 
his  brief  period  of  ease,  the  lesson  of  the 
sufferer  relieved  by  the  hypodermic  needle. 
He  turned  to  Phyllis  as  some  mutilated 
wretch  to  morphine.  And  he  found  his  solace 
as  secure. 

127 


THE  THINGS  THAT  ARE  C^SAK'S 

The  day  following  that  of  the  dinner  he 
managed  easily  to  find  time  from  a  stupid  as- 
signment to  call  upon  her  at  the  very  instant 
of  appointment,  and  he  was  rejoiced  to  find 
that  she  had  set  an  hour  when  they  were  rela- 
tively sure  to  be  undisturbed.  The  girl's 
manner  was  forcibly  that  of  delight.  Speed- 
ily exhausting  common  acquaintances,  they 
were  forced  to  talk  of  only  safest  general- 
ities. But  it  was  none  the  less  evident  that 
they  both  enjoyed  the  interview  which  for 
one,  in  both  bringing  peace  and  securing  a 
return,  well  served  the  double  purpose  of  an 
opiate. 

In  most  respects  a  harmless  one  enough, 
the  analogy  still  held  in  the  after-effects,  for 
from  his  second  draught  John  awoke  to  the 
torment  consequent  upon  the  moral  attitude 
in  which  he  stood  to  the  girl's  father.  When 
he  was  with  her  he  forgot  her  nearest  kin 
along  with  all  the  rest  of  the  world,  but  the 
moment  she  was  out  of  his  sight  he  was  tor- 
mented by  all  the  seven  devils  of  doubt  and 
remorse.  From  this  there  was  but  the  single 
escape  of  another  glimpse  of  her,  and  that 
128 


THE  USE  OF  A  DAUGHTER 

they  both  managed  so  well  that,  in  spite 
of  Phyllis's  already  multitudinous  engage- 
ments, not  a  day  passed  but  they  somehow 
met. 

For  some  days  the  girl  held  him  at  arms' 
length,  this  strange  new  sort  of  a  man,  who, 
she  always  dreaded,  was  about  to  forsake 
the  general  for  the  personal.  Yet  daily  she 
came,  as  even  he  could  see,  more  and  more  to 
wish  not  to  keep  him  from  her.  Then,  after 
an  afternoon's  automobiling  through  the  city 
park,  he  awoke  to  the  knowledge  that  it  was 
Wednesday  evening;  that  the  two  weeks  of 
Elridge's,  of  his  own,  of  Gwynne's  grace, 
would  be  up  on  Friday,  and  that  on  the  mor- 
row his  city  editor,  and  even  Mr.  Thring, 
would  demand  the  confession  for  publication 
in  Saturday's  paper. 

Though  to  the  new  reporter  there  had,  of 
course,  seemed  nothing  amiss,  he  had  been, 
for  the  past  two  weeks  or  more,  keenly  aware 
that  his  position  at  the  office  was  most  anoma- 
lous. Fealy  passed  him  in  the  halls  without 
speaking,  and  continued  to  give  him  the  most 
trying  hack-work  assignments.  Once  Mr. 
129 


THE  THINGS  THAT  AEE  C^SAB'S 

Thring  in  going  through  Haig's  room  by  a 
tortuous  course  to  his  own,  had  so  far  recov- 
ered from  his  star-gazing  to  touch  him  on  the 
arm  and  inquire  smilingly  about  his  work, 
and  that,  John  knew,  was  a  tacit  assurance 
that  there  was  one  man  on  the  paper  who 
could  and  did  stand  between  him  and  dis- 
missal. But  save  for  that  incident  his  way 
was  dark. 

And  now  the  critical  moment  was  about  to 
arrive.  Fealy  had  said  no  word  to  him  all 
that  day,  yet  the  fact  was  terribly  plain.  He 
left  the  office  on  the  stroke  of  midnight  and, 
omitting  his  accustomed  solitary  glass  of 
beer,  denied  himself  his  car  in  an  appeal  to 
hard  walking  and  the  keen  night  air. 

In  an  instant  he  was  again  plunged  into 
an  ocean  of  uncertainty.  For  the  thousandth 
time  he  asked  himself  his  duty.  He  had  read 
that  all  things  were  subservient  to  love ;  that 
honour  sacrificed  upon  love's  altar  meant  a 
finer  honour  gained.  He  might  even  yet  burn 
that  incriminating  paper,  seek  other  employ- 
ment, and  win  his  heart's  desire.  But  he  was 
not  yet  the  man  to  be  deceived  by  such  trans- 
130 


THE  USE  OF  A  DAUGHTER 

parent  sophistry.  He  was  still  too  new  to 
the  world  to  accept  the  world's  logic. 

He  had  walked  far  past  his  home.  All 
about  him  the  city  was  quiet,  the  streets  were 
desolate.  Only  his  hurried,  aimless  footsteps 
woke  clattering  echoes  among  the  blind 
houses  which  sprang  up  at  either  hand.  Yet 
out  of  the  night  there  rose  at  last  one  that 
kept  him  reluctant  company,  that  clung  to  his 
coat  and  held  him  back.  Phyllis,  in  dumb 
appeal,  hung  about  his  knees.  He  would  not 
look.  Her  hands  rose  to  his  arms;  he 
dragged  her  girlhood  along  in  the  dust  after 
him.  Her  hands  were  slipping  to  his — never ! 
They  touched  his ;  they  held  him.  It  was  the 
touch  that  he  had  encountered  at  the  curtain. 

With  a  groan  he  wheeled  about.  He  knew 
what  he  was  doing,  knew  all  that  it  meant. 
He  would  lose  Phyllis — there  was  a  painful 
satisfaction  in  the  realization  of  that  stroke 
of  reluctive  justice — yet  he  would  make  this 
one  concession  to  his  conscience ;  he  would  go 
next  morning  to  Bill  Gwynne's  office  and 
warn  him.  In  the  relief  of  emerging  at  last 
from  his  struggles  with  the  strange  current 
131 


THE  THINGS  THAT  ARE  CESAR'S 

of  doubt  to  his  familiar  firm  earth  of  cer- 
tainty, calm  in  his  inevitable  sense  of  security 
in  arriving  at  a  definite  conclusion  of  what- 
ever sort,  he  went  to  bed  and  slept  soundly 
until  nine  o'clock. 

Two  hours  later  he  was  being  shown  into 
a  large,  well-furnished,  well-lighted  room  on 
the  second  floor  of  a  great  office-building,  into 
the  cheerful  holy  of  holies  of  Billy  Gwynne. 

As  Haig  advanced  over  the  deep  soft 
rugs,  the  politician,  in  immaculate  frock  coat, 
rose  from  a  roll-top,  ordered  desk  beside  a 
window  that  looked  out  on  the  city's  busi- 
est thoroughfare,  and  advanced  with  out- 
stretched hands  and  red  face  which  concealed 
every  trace  of  surprise  beneath  a  well-as- 
sumed mask  of  conventional  pleasure. 

John  did  not  shake  hands,  but  Gwynne 
was  tactician  enough  so  to  let  his  own  arm 
fall  that  any  observer,  had  there  been  one, 
must  have  failed  to  note  the  little  awkward- 
ness. 

"  I  dare  say  you  don't  remember  me " 

began  Haig. 

"  Perfectly,  my  dear  sir,  perfectly," 
132 


THE  USE  OF  A  DAUGHTER 

G wynne  pleasantly  assured  him.  "  You're 
the  good  bishop's  nephew,  Mr.  Haig.  Sit 
down." 

John  took  a  chair  near  the  arm  of  the 
desk,  and  Gwynne  resumed  his  former  place. 

"  I  suppose,"  the  latter  continued,  "  that 
you  are  here  on  business  of  the  paper.  How 
are  things  going  on  down  there?  How's 
Fealy  and  Thring,  and  how's  little  Jimmy 
Kicker?  They're  all  friends  of  mine  on  the 
Globe-Express.  I  don't  like  to  recall  fa- 
vours, but  you  may  remember  that  I  helped 
a  little  in  getting  you  there." 

But,  once  there  was  a  pressing  need  for 
action,  Haig  was  not  the  man  thus  easily  to 
be  brushed  aside.  Gwynne's  influence  in  se- 
curing his  position  had  not  been  forgotten  in 
his  recent  worries,  and  he  now  cheerfully 
admitted  it.  Yet — 

"  It's  only  partly  on  newspaper  business 
that  I'm  here,"  he  added.  "  I  don't  really 
know  that  you  can  call  it  newspaper  business 
at  all.  I'm  sorry  to  hear  that  you  think 
Fealy's  a  friend  of  yours,  for  I've  come  to 
tell  you  just  the  other  thing."  He  looked 
133 


THE  THINGS  THAT  AKE  CAESAR'S 

over  his  shoulder  at  the  distant  entrance  of 
the  room,  and  concluded  with  the  question: 
"  We're  not  likely  to  be  overheard!  " 

Gwynne's  heavy  eyebrows  contracted  to  a 
sudden  keenness.  He  pushed  a  button  in  his 
desk,  and  the  burly  clerk  who  had  shown 
Haig  in  now  appeared  as  if  by  magic  at  the 
doorway. 

"I  don't  want  to  be  disturbed,  Barton," 
the  politician  calmly  explained,  "  until  I  push 
the  buzzer  again." 

The  clerk  disappeared  as  quickly  as  he 
had  come,  and  Gwynne  pursued : 

"  Now,  Mr.  Haig,  you  can  go  ahead." 

John  went  ahead. 

"  I  don't  want  you  to  ask  my  reasons  for 
telling  you  what  I'm  going  to  tell  you,"  he 
said,  speaking  faintly  and  clearly,  but  rap- 
idly. "  I  know  what  it  is.  It's  a  dirty  trick 
I'm  playing  my  paper,  and  it  is  not  the 
square  thing  morally,  but  I'm  doing  it — for 
reasons  of  my  own.  Two  weeks  ago  we  got 
the  tip  there  was  a  warrant  out  on  the  quiet 
for  the  contractor  Elridge.  He  was  going  to 
skip,  and  I  was  the  only  one  to  get  him  for 
134 


THE  USE  OF  A  DAUGHTER 

an  interview  before  he  ran  away.  I  got  him. 
I  promised  him  two  weeks'  grace  if  he'd  give 
me  a  confession,  and  he  gave  it — wrote  it 
out.  They  wanted  to  see  it  at  the  office,  but 
I  knew  Fealy'd  use  it  right  away  if  I  gave  it 
up,  so  I  kept  it  to  myself.  No  one's  had  a 
sight  of  it  yet  but  me,  but  it's  got  to  go  into 
to-morrow's  paper.  It's  detailed,  and  in  a 
way  that  I  don't  think  anybody  can  mistake 
it  implicates  you." 


135 


A   MODERN   BANQUO'S   GHOST 

BILLY  GWYNNE  bent  forward,  slowly 
drew  from  his  pocket  a  case  of  cigars,  and 
presented  it  to  the  reporter.  Haig  waved  it 
nervously  aside,  and  Gwynne,  with  a  murmur 
of  apology,  carefully  selected  and  lit  a  mild 
Manila.  Then  he  leaned  back  again,  comfort- 
ably crossed  his  legs,  and  through  a  fragrant 
cloud  of  blue  smoke  gazed  at  the  young  man 
with  an  air  of  puzzled  amusement. 

"  Mr.  Haig,"  he  at  last  said,  "  you  are  a 
very  young  man." 

John's  jaw  dropped. 

"  A  very  young  man,"  continued  Gwynne 
musingly.  "  And  what  is  more,  you  are  not 
very  promising  at  newspaper  work.  Here 
you  have  been  in  this  town  for  about  three 
weeks — isn't  it? — and  yet  you  come  to  me 
with  a  story  like  this." 
136 


A  MODERN  BANQUO'S  GHOST 

Haig  was  plunged  forthwith  into  a  sea 
of  confusion.  Was  it,  after  all,  possible 
that  he  had  made  some  great  mistake? 
He  did  not  pause  to  consider  the  ques- 
tion. There  was  something  that  irritated 
him  on  the  surface,  and  that  is  what  al- 
ways demands  of  us  the  more  instant  at- 
tention. 

"I  don't  see,"  he  stiffly  rejoined,  "what 
my  age  or  business  ability  has  to  do  with  the 
matter  in  hand." 

Gwynne  grew  more  serious.  He  with- 
drew his  cigar  and,  snapping  forward  in  his 
chair,  shook  a  heavy  forefinger  at  his  vis- 
drvis. 

"  It's  got,"  he  said,  "  just  this  to  do  with 
it:  Any  one  with  any  perception  of  the  sort 
needed  in  your  work  would  have  known  bet- 
ter than  to  act  the  way  you've  done.  Great 
Lord,  man!  Don't  you  see  how  it  is?  Your 
people,  you  say,  haven't  seen  this  confession, 
as  you  call  it.  They  haven't  an  idea  whom  it 
implicates.  You've  risked  your  job  by  refus- 
ing to  give  them  any.  Well,  do  you  suppose 
that  if  they  had  an  idea,  or  if  I'd  an  idea 
10  137 


THE  THINGS  THAT  ARE  (LESAR'S 

that  they'd  had  one,  there'd  be  a  single  pa- 
per in  this  whole  city  would  dare  to  print 
such  stuff  about  me?  Why,  man  alive,  don't 
you  know  that  they're  all,  or  nearly  all,  on 
my  side?  " 

The  blow  caught  Haig  squarely.  It  threw 
him  to  his  feet.  He  grasped  spasmodically 
at  the  arm  of  the  desk. 

"But,"  he  cried,  "it's  true!" 

Billy  Gwynne  raised  his  bushy  eyebrows 
until  they  were  lost  in  the  meeting  with  his 
hair.  He  smiled.  He  said  nothing;  he  only 
smiled.  But  that  smile  explained  the  whole 
situation. 

John  Haig's  little  idealization  of  a  moral 
humanity  crumbled  beneath  his  feet,  and  he 
sank  back  into  his  chair  with  a  sad,  small 
gasp. 

Meanwhile,  Gwynne  was  narrowly  study- 
ing the  white,  clean-cut  face  before  him.  Had 
he  been  a  man  of  different  experience  he 
might  not  have  formed  the  erroneous  judg- 
ment which  now  resulted  from  this  scrutiny, 
but  he  was  not  in  the  habit  of  coming  into 
such  contact  with  what  he  would  have  stig- 
138 


A  MODERN  BANQUO'S  GHOST 

matized  as  sheer  Quixotism,  and  he  acted  at 
once  accordingly. 

"  But  don't  let  this  worry  you,  Mr.  Haig," 
he  encouragingly  began.  "  You  may  not  be 
suited  to  newspaper  work,  but  there  seems  to 
be  another  sort  of  work  to  which,  as  I  might 
have  known,  you're  suited  pretty  well. 
Your  real  faults  are  youth  and  greenness, 
and  those  you'll  get  over  all  in  good  time. 
You've  done  what  might  have  been  a  con- 
foundedly clever  thing — only  it  wasn't.  Now, 
I'm  not  offended.  Don't  think  that  I'm  of- 
fended in  the  least.  I've  found  that  it  doesn't 
pay  to  get  offended  in  this  life.  So  I'm  going 
to  make  a  proposition  to  you.  I'll  admit,  be- 
tween us  two  here,  that  that  confession,  to 
give  it  your  own  name  for  it,  is  worth  some- 
thing to  me,  even  if  you  can't  use  it.  You 
see,  I'm  perfectly  fair — fairer  than  you  were. 
I  tell  you  that  you've  not  got  the  weapon  that 
you  thought  you  had,  but  I  admit  that  it's  a 
weapon  of  some  kind,  and  one  that  I'd  rather 
have  my  own  fingers  on.  That's  why  I'm 
going  to  ask  you  your  price." 

John  was  still  in  a  confused  and  storm- 
139 


THE  THINGS  THAT  AEE  CESAR'S 

tossed  condition,  but  he  was  not  of  the  men 
whom  the  emotion  of  surprise  can  affect  to 
the  point  of  dulness.  There  was  therefore 
real  indignation  in  his  voice  as  he  rapped  out : 

"  My  price  ?  " 

Once  more  Gwynne  smiled  indulgently. 
He  had,  he  thought,  met  with  this  kind  too 
often  before  to  be  deceived  by  a  greenhorn. 

"  Exactly,"  he  calmly  responded.  "  Now, 
don't  let  us  waste  time,  Mr.  Haig.  I  have 
several  more  important  things  to  do  this 
morning.  We'll  suppose,  for  the  sake  of  ar- 
gument, that  you've  said  all  that  a  man  ought 
to  say  to  such  an  offer,  and  so  we'll  get  down 
to  business.  How  much  do  you  want  for 
handing  over  that  confession  to  me ! " 

"  I  am  not  in  the  habit  of  selling  myself, 
nor  of  having  other  people  bid  for  me." 

There  was  a  ring  about  the  statement  that 
forced  Gwynne  upoji  another  and  safer  road. 

"  Why,  I  don't  suppose  that  you  are,  Mr. 
Haig.  You  don't  look  it.  I  know,  of  course, 
that  you're  a  gentleman,  and  I  dare  say  that 
I  needn't  remind  you  that  I  am  one,  too.  I 
would  hardly,  then,  offer  you  such  an  insult 
140 


A  MODERN  BANQUO'S  GHOST 

as  you  seem  to  have  supposed.  I  beg  pardon 
for  speaking  in  a  manner  that  you  could  mis- 
interpret. That's  square,  isn't  it  ?  " 

"  Well,  then,"  asked  Haig,  only  half-molli- 
fied, "  what  are  you  trying  to  get  at! " 

"Life  is  life,  Mr.  Haig.  We've  got  to 
help  each  other  or  none  of  us  would  ever  get 
along  in  this  world.  Of  course,  I'm  in  a  posi- 
tion to  help  you,  for  your  job  won't  be  worth 
a  week's  notice  just  as  soon  as  that  pleasant 
city  editor  of  yours  gets  a  chance  to  fire  you. 
Well,  you're  in  a  way  of  doing  me  a  favour, 
too.  Why  shouldn't  we  make  a  fair  trade! 
That's  all  I  want.  You  don't  seem  to  know 
much  about  my  position  in  this  city— 

"  I  know  it  pretty  well,  thank  you." 

"  Then  I'm  relieved  from  boring  you  with 
details.  If  you  understand  my  position,  you'll 
know  that  I  can  fix  things  up  here  for  about 
what  I  want  and  about  what  you  want.  But 
I  could  take  that  paper  out  of  your  pocket,  I 
suppose,  and  you  wouldn't  have  much  of  a 
chance  of  proving  a  word  of  it  in  the  courts. 
Instead  of  that,  I've  met  you  at  the  house  of 
a  very  dear  friend  of  mine,  a  great  and  good 
141 


THE  THINGS  THAT  ARE  CESAR'S 

man,  Mr.  Haig.  I  see  that  you're  a  young 
fellow  with  brains  and  ability  to  get  on. 
That's  the  kind  of  man  this  city  wants.  We 
need  them,  for  the  public  good,  in  our  offices." 

John  picked  up  his  hat  from  the  floor  and 
rose  to  leave.  He  spoke  quietly. 

"  You  may  go  to  the  devil,  Mr.  Gwynne," 
he  said. 

"  I  wouldn't,  if  I  were  you,  take  this  pose, 
Mr.  Haig ;  I  really  wouldn't." 

"  Good-morning,"  said  John. 

"Mr.  Haig!" 

Gwynne  had  risen  to  his  feet.  His  tone 
was  sharp,  but  not  one  whit  excited.  Some- 
thing in  it  made  John  turn. 

"Well!  "he  asked. 

The  politician  was  standing  upright,  his 
face  redder  than  Haig  had  yet  seen  it,  but, 
to  all  other  appearances,  he  was  perfectly 
composed. 

"  I  don't  want  you  to  misunderstand  your 
position  in  this  matter,"  he  said  gravely. 
"  Believe  me,  I  was  sincere  in  all  that  I  said. 
But  I'm  really  beginning  to  think  that  you 
were  sincere,  too.  You  were,  weren't  you?  " 
142 


A  MODERN  BANQUO'S  GHOST 

"  I  certainly  was." 

"  Huh  I  Well,  you've  told  me  not  to  ask 
you  why  you  took  this  step,  and  if  it  wasn't 
for  the  reasons  I  naturally  supposed,  then  I 
can't  see  what  the  devil  it  was  for.  However, 
it  evidently  was  for  something  else,  so  I 
won't  press  you." 

"  It  wouldn't  matter  if  you  did." 

"  I'm  beginning  to  think  it  wouldn't — and 
there  I'm  paying  you  a  compliment,  even  if 
you  don't  know  it.  Now,  Mr.  Haig" — he 
coughed  gently  and  relit  his  cigar — "  I  want 
you  to  see  how  things  are  before  you  run 
away  and  do  anything  rash.  I'm  not  going 
to  make  you  any  further  offers — those  I  have 
made  stand  for  the  present,  but  you  don't 
seem  to  like  them,  so  I'm  not  going  to 
make  any  more.  But  there's  something 
I'd  have  you  know."  His  eyes  lit  up  with 
sudden  feeling,  and  he  brought  his  fist 
down  solidly  upon  the  desk.  "  You've  got 
to  understand  this:  you  can't  hurt  me, 
whatever  you  do,  for  the  simple  reason 
that  my  oath  is  a  great  deal  better  than 
yours." 

143 


THE  THINGS  THAT  ARE  CESAR'S 

Haig  was  unable  to  bear  quietly  another 
word.  The  calm  insolence  of  the  man,  his  as- 
surance and,  above  all,  the  sense  that  his  atti- 
tude was  more  or  less  justified  by  fact,  stung 
John  with  every  syllable  that  was  uttered. 
His  conceptions  of  right  and  wrong  had  been 
receiving  silently,  during  the  past  few  days, 
wound  after  wound.  But  this  was  too  much. 
He  had  had  no  previous  idea  of  making  pub- 
lic the  confession  through  other  channels 
than  the  columns  of  his  own  paper;  in  an- 
other mood  he  might  even  have  welcomed  the 
closing  of  those  columns  against  the  article  as 
a  righteous  escape  from  his  moral  difficulty; 
but  Gwynne's  offers  of  a  bribe  had  driven  out 
of  his  mind  all  considerations  save  those  of 
this  insult.  He  turned  upon  the  politician 
savagely. 

"How  can  that  be?"  he  cried.  "You 
have  position  here,  I  know,  and  you  seem  to 
have  all  sorts  of  power,  but  I  guess  I  can 
soon  enough  prove  to  you  that  in  this  country 
one  man's  word's  as  good  as  another's,  Mr. 
Gwynne ! " 

Gwynne  was  also  fast  losing  his  temper. 
144 


A  MODERN  BANQUO'S  GHOST 

As  he  had  intimated,  he  did  not  often  grow 
angry,  because  he  thoroughly  understood 
most  of  the  men  with  whom  he  had  to  deal, 
but  he  always  lost  his  temper  when  he  had 
to  do  with  a  man  whose  motives  were  beyond 
the  political  intelligence.  For  the  present  he 
nevertheless  spoke  with  his  habitual  pla- 
cidity. 

"  Is  it?  "  he  asked.  "  Is  my  word  no  bet- 
ter than  that  of  a  branded  jail-bird! " 

Haig  recoiled.  His  pallor  deepened;  his 
nerveless  fingers  let  his  hat  fall  with  a  queer 
thud  to  the  floor.  He  noticed,  as  his  eyes 
aimlessly  followed  its  curving  course,  that  it 
rolled  back  upon  the  rug  on  which  he  was 
standing,  and  he  observed  that  the  rug  was 
red.  Then  the  full  meaning  of  the  man's 
words  rushed  upon  him  and  he  faced  about. 

"  You're  a  coward,"  he  said.  "  You're  a 
coward,  and  you're  trying  to  hide  behind  a 
few  dirty  words.  How  do  you  know  any- 
thing about  me,  and  what  does  it  matter  what 
you  know? " 

"  How  do  I  know  it  ?  I  thought  you  seemed 
pretty  well  to  have  forgotten  that  you  owed 
145 


THE  THINGS  THAT  AEE  CESAR'S 

me  your  bread  and  butter.  Why,  your  uncle 
told  me  all  about  you,  of  course,  when  he  got 
me  to  get  you  on  the  paper." 

"My  uncle?"  gasped  John. 

"  Certainly.  You  don't  suppose  he's  the 
dishonest  sort  of  man  who  would  ask  me  to 
recommend  a  fellow  without  telling  me  all 
about  the  chap?  Oh,  I  know  all  there  is  to 
know  about  you,  Mr.  Haig,  and  I  must  say 
you're  mighty  thankful  for  my  keeping 
quiet ! " 

But  from  this  palpable  bid  for  gratitude 
Haig  turned  promptly. 

"I  guess  I  squared  myself  with  yea  by 
coming  here  at  all  this  morning,"  he  replied. 
"  If  my  uncle  did  tell  you  this  about  me — and 
I  can  begin  to  see  now  how  he  would — then  I 
may  as  well  add  this :  that  I'm  not  ashamed  of 
myself,  and  that  if  I  didn't  let  any  one  know 
about  my — what  has  happened  to  me,  it  was 
because  it  wasn't  any  one's  business." 

"  I  don't  think  the  office  will  agree  with 
you  there.     I  never  heard  of  such  absurd 
foolery!    Not  your  employers'  business  that 
you've  been  in  jail  ?  " 
146 


"  That's  what  I  say.  If  I'd  broken  jail  it 
might  have  been  a  different  thing — it  would 
have  been  different.  But  haven't  I  done  all 
that  the  law  requires  of  me!  Well,  then,  I'm 
as  good  in  the  eyes  of  the  law  as  anybody  else. 
And  that's  not  all.  I  tell  you,  Mr.  Gwynne— 
and  I  mean  what  I  say — that  if  I'm  at  all 
right  you're  all  wrong,  for  if  my  paper's  em- 
ploying a  thief  that's  been  caught  and  served 
his  term  and  come  out  clean,  your  precious 
city's  employing  a  thief  that  hasn't  been 
caught,  and  that's  keeping  on  robbing  it ! " 

Gwynne  broke  into  a  laugh  of  genuine 
surprise.  He  was  beginning  at  last  to  under- 
stand this  young  fellow.  It  seemed  too  good 
to  be  true,  but  he  was  sincerely  amused  with 
the  chance  of  the  novelty. 

"  Upon  my  soul,"  he  said,  "  I  really  think 
you  consider  yourself  more  socially  eligible 
than  I  am." 

Haig  leaned  upon  a  chair-back. 

"  I  don't  consider,"  he  replied,  "  that 
there's  any  comparison." 

He  watched  the  face  of  the  politician 
closely,  and  of  what  he  now  saw  taking  place 
147 


THE  THINGS  THAT  ARE  CAESAR'S 

there  lie  could  have  no  doubt.  It  was  the 
routing  of  a  surprised  uncertainty  by  the 
honest  acceptance  of  an  astounding  fact. 

"  Why,  God  bless  my  soul,"  said  Gwynne 
at  last,  "  you've  been  in  jail !  " 


148 


XI 

EXIT  A   REPORTER 

HAIG  left  the  office  without  a  word — so 
quickly,  in  fact,  that  he  was  gone  before 
Gwynne  could  recover  from  his  surprise.  He 
got  into  the  street.  He  wanted  to  mix  with 
the  crowd,  to  lose  himself  among  these  myri- 
ad lives  and  forget,  if  possible,  this  thing 
which  he  had  heard. 

But  he  could  not  forget  it.  It  lurked  at 
every  corner,  it  fell  from  every  lip  that  gave 
to  his  ear  fragmentary  words  as  he  passed 
hurriedly  by.  It  kept  dinning  in  his  head 
with  every  step  he  took,  until  he  was  forced 
to  meet  and  consider  it. 

At  first  it  was  of  only  the  injustice  of  the 
code  that  he  was  sensible.  So  this,  at  last, 
was  the  prevailing  view!  What,  then,  was 
punishment  if  it  was  not  reparation?  Men 
had  drawn  upon  the  whole  experience  of 
149 


THE  THINGS  THAT  AEE  CAESAR'S 

their  race  to  enact  and  exact  either  the  just- 
est  or  the  severest  penalties,  and  then,  when 
the  penalties  were  paid,  usurious  society 
screamed  for  more.  Was  it  blood-mad,  this 
earth  of  men?  What,  else,  was  the  logic  on 
which  it  builded?  The  overt  crime  of  it, 
to  tell  him  in  so  many  words,  here,  there, 
everywhere,  that  his  shame  was  not  that 
he  had  done  wrong,  not  even  that  he  had 
been  detected  in  the  doing  of  it,  but  that  he 
had  committed  the  enormity  of  paying  the 
price. 

He  reflected  with  a  terrible  bitterness  that 
had  he  chosen  the  easier  course,  as  it  had 
been  for  him  to  choose,  he  could  have  made 
only  a  material  restitution  to  those  whom  he 
had  wronged;  could  have  avoided  the  law, 
and,  removing  from  the  scene  of  his  down- 
fall, have  remained,  to  all  appearances,  the 
man  that  most  men  were.  And  he  would 
have  done  so  had  it  not  been  for  the  mag- 
niloquent advice  of  a  parson  who  had  noth- 
ing himself  to  lose,  would  have  saved,  as 
the  Chinese  have  it,  his  face — and  that,  it' 
seemed,  was  the  important  thing — would 
150 


EXIT  A  REPORTER 

have  rescued  not  only  ten  years,  not  only 
the  half  of  splendid  youth,  but  his  whole 
long  life. 

At  first  he  could  have  cursed  the  bishop 
for  his  blindness  and  his  false  counsel,  but 
soon  he  was  far  more  inclined  to  pity  him. 
For  the  bishop  was  a  man  of  conscience,  and 
he,  too,  must  shortly  awaken  to  the  conse- 
(Jttences  of  his  advice ;  must,  sooner  or  later, 
bow  his  neck  to  the  social  yoke.  Nay,  Haig's 
memory,  quickened  by  his  new  knowledge, 
reviewed  the  past  several  days,  and  asked 
sharply  whether  his  uncle  had  not,  so  long 
ago  as  the  evening  of  the  return,  already 
awakened.  With  vivid  distinctness  and  with 
new  meaning  it  recalled  the  good  man's  atti- 
tude in  the  discussion  following  his  little  din- 
ner-party ;  it  seized  upon  and  ticketed  a  mul- 
titude of  casual  words  and  unconsidered  ex- 
pressions, at  first  but  half-noted  during  the 
past  three  weeks,  and  all  of  these  it  finally 
capped  with  the  triumphant  fact  of  what  his 
uncle  had  told  to  Gwynne.  No,  here  was  in- 
deed an  idol  fallen,  an  idol  that  had  stood  so 
high  and  tumbled  so  low  that  its  inevitable 
151 


THE  THINGS  THAT  ARE  CESAR'S 

overthrow  could  rouse  no  emotion  save  that 
of  pity. 

Inevitable  indeed.  For  Gwynne  was  rep- 
resentative. Upon  that — as  upon  all  that 
logically  followed — there  could  no  longer  be 
any  uncertainty.  There  came  back  to  Haig 
even  a  corroborative  recollection  from  his 
earliest  childhood — a  picture  that  had  hith- 
erto lain  all  these  forgetful  years  in  some 
dusty  attic,  some  Genevra-chest  of  his  brain 
— the  memory  of  a  pale-faced,  stooping  figure 
he  had  once  seen  skulking  along  a  back  lane 
of  his  village,  and  from  whom  his  pinafored 
companions  had  unsteadily  fled  in  terror  be- 
cause, they  said,  the  thing  had  been  in  jail. 

He  caught  a  glimpse  of  his  own  face  re- 
flected, among  a  dozen  others,  in  a  store-win- 
dow, and  his  resentment  gave  way  to  terror 
as  he  remarked  that  it  was  the  very  face  of 
that  lost  village  lane. 

He  rushed  he  knew  not  where — anywhere 
so  long  as  it  was  out  and  away  from  the  busi- 
ness portion  and  into  the  least-frequented 
streets  of  the  city.  He  would  have  fled,  if  he 
could,  to  the  untrodden  wilderness.  For  he 
152 


EXIT  A  REPORTER 

was  afraid.  He  was  no  longer  a  man  among 
men;  he  was  an  outcast — he  had  been  in  jail. 
AVliat  though  the  world  loathed  him  only  be- 
cause he  had  obeyed  the  world!  It  did  loathe 
him;  worst  of  all,  it  must.  He  was  an  out- 
cast, he  repeated;  the  tokens  of  his  shame 
were  plain  upon  him,  and  he  was  suddenly, 
and  for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  ashamed  to 
show  his  face  to  strangers. 

The  terror  of  the  mood  lasted  for  hours. 
Its  underlying  principle  was  destined  never 
wholly  to  pass  away.  But  at  last  its  inten- 
sity temporarily  exhausted  itself  by  very  su- 
peraction,  and  habit,  so  speedily  acquired 
and  so  strong  to  sway,  prompted  him  to  look 
at  his  watch. 

It  was  three  o'clock;  he  had  been  due  at 
the  office  at  one,  and  he  was  miles  away. 

He  took  a  car,  but  there  was  a  block  on 
the  line,  and  it  was  half-past  four  when  he 
arrived.  He  was  not  now,  however,  so  much, 
worried  about  his  tardiness  as  he  was  curious 
to  discover  what  Fealy  would  have  to  say 
when  he  read  the  Elridge  confession.  He 
was  at  the  last  too  tired,  both  of  body  and 
11  153 


THE  THINGS  THAT  AEE  C^ESAB'S 

mind,  to  think  of  affairs  more  important,  and 
he  entered  the  city  editor's  room  almost 
jauntily. 

Fealy  was  there.  He  was  clearly  waiting ; 
clearly,  too,  he  had  been  waiting  for  some 
time,  and  was  neither  used  to  nor  fond  of 
the  pastime. 

"You're  half  a  day  late,  Mr.  Haig,"  he 
growled. 

John  noticed  that  the  perpetual  cigar  was 
more  than  commonly  gnawed. 

"I'm  sorry,  sir,"  he  replied.  "I'll  see 
that  it  doesn't  happen  again." 

"Well,  let's  have  your  precious  paper." 

Haig  produced  it  from  his  breast-pocket. 
Fealy  snatched  it  like  a  bird  of  prey,  and 
then,  to  the  reporter's  unconcealed  astonish- 
ment and  dismay,  thrust  it  into  his  own  coat. 

"Why,  don't  you  want  to  read  it  over?  " 
asked  John. 

"  I  don't  imagine  we'll  have  much  use  for 
it.  It's  turned  out  to  be  a  fake,  Mr.  Haig, 
and  if  you'd  have  been  honest  about  it  you'd 
have  saved  the  paper  a  good  deal  of  trouble 
and  yourself  a  sight  more." 
154 


EXIT  A  REPORTER 

The  situation  began  to  grow  clear  to  John, 
but  he  was  too  worn  out  to  care  much.  He 
had  completed  the  performance  of  his  duty 
to  his  employers.  It  had  ceased  to  be  a  pain- 
ful and  had  become  a  doubtful  duty,  but  he 
was  unable  long  to  consider  it  one  way  or 
the  other. 

"  Have  you  my  assignment  ready  ?  "  he 
asked. 

Fealy  must  have  expected  some  protest, 
and  had  his  wrath  prepared.  The  protest 
not  being  forthcoming,  he  was  all  the  more 
sincere  in  his  anger. 

"  Assignment  f "  he  fairly  roared. 
"You're  impudent  one  week,  make  fools  of 
us  all  the  next,  and  then  have  the  nerve  to 
come  here  at  4.30  in  the  afternoon "•  —it 
was  a  quarter  after  by  the  clock,  but  that 
was  a  detail — "  and  ask  me  if  I've  got  your 
assignment!  No,  Mr.  Haig,  I  haven't 
got  your  assignment  and  I  never  will 
have." 

John's  lips  tightened. 

"  Do  you  mean,"  he  asked,  "  that  you've 
discharged  me  ?  " 

155 


THE  THINGS  THAT  ARE  CESAR'S 

"  I  certainly  do.  I  can't  have  men  coming 
in  to  work  at  all  hours." 

"  Very  well,  Mr.  Fealy,  only  let's  under- 
stand one  another.  I  know,  of  course,  that 
the  reason  you're  getting  rid  of  me  is  in  your 
pocket " 

"Get  out  of  here!" 

"  And  I  consider  that  you  have  stolen  it." 

"  Stolen  it !  Well,  I  know  what  you  are, 
and  I  don't  want  you  around  this  place ! " 

Haig  withdrew  with  what  trace  of  dignity 
was  left  him  by  the  shock  of  his  new  view 
of  life.  That  shock  had  spared  him  just 
sufficient  reserve  force  to  maintain  some  ap- 
pearance of  dignity  before  the  snarling  beast 
in  the  city  editor's  office,  but  there  it  ceased, 
and  a  strange  thing  appeared  in  its  stead. 
John  knew  that  he  could  not  defend  his  posi- 
tion before  Mr.  Thring;  he  realized  far  too 
fully  the  immense  force  against  him,  yet 
there  was  left  an  odd  desire  for  what  justice 
the  world  allowed — the  justice  of  his  two 
weeks'  notice.  He  was  suffering  so  much 
from  the  moral  code  that  he  wanted  whatever 
of  base  balm  it  might  contain,  and  he  re- 
156 


EXIT  A  REPORTER 

solved  to  beg — since  he  could  not  fight — for 
that.  He  accordingly  conceived  and  at  once 
executed  a  plan  that  would  have  been  impos- 
sible to  him  twelve  hours  before.  It  meant 
that  his  pride  was,  for  the  time,  at  least, 
completely  stunned. 

Mr.  Thring  was  writing  an  editorial  with 
a  crayon  pencil  in  a  den  very  like  to  and  not 
much  better  than  Fealy's.  He  looked  up,  as 
Haig  entered,  with  vague  surprise. 

John  stated  his  case  briefly  and  succinct- 
ly, but  with  a  note  in  his  voice  that  sounded 
like  a  whine,  a  note  which,  try  as  he  would, 
he  could  not  then  eradicate. 

When  he  had  ceased  Mr.  Thring,  who  had 
not  looked  up  again  during  the  whole  recital, 
continued  silent  for  a  moment,  making  dots 
with  his  pencil  on  a  sheet  of  pulpy  copy-pa- 
per. At  last  he  said: 

"  Why  didn't  you  say  this  to  Mr.  Fealyf  " 

"  He  didn't  give  me  the  chance." 

"Well,"  continued  the  editor  rather 
querulously,  "  he's  the  man  you  ought  to  say 
it  to." 

There  was  another  pause.  Thring  hated 
157 


THE  THINGS  THAT  AEE  CESAR'S 

scenes,  but,  seeing  at  last  that  the  thing  had 
to  be  done,  he  spoke  as  kindly  as  possible. 

"  It  seems  that  you  ought  to  have  the  two 
weeks'  notice,  though  of  course  there's  no  con- 
tract, nothing  that  the  law  would  recognise. 
But  that's  Fealy's  business,  and  he's  dis- 
charged you  right  off.  I  can't  meddle  with 
his  department,  you  know.  However  " — he 
paused  and  wrote  a  few  unintelligible  lines 
on  a  scrap  of  note-paper  which  he  handed  to 
John — "  I  guess  I  can  do  this.  There's  an 
order  on  the  business-office  for  this  week's 
pay  and  the  two  weeks  following." 

He  was  not  used  to  speaking  so  much.  It 
annoyed  and  embarrassed  him.  Besides,  he 
knew  that  worse  must  shortly  be  demanded 
of  him. 

And  it  was. 

"  But  then  I've  the  right  to  earn  this," 
John  still  had  managed  to  protest. 

Still  Thring  did  not  look  up.  He  could 
not  now  had  he  wished  to.  As  it  was  he 
thanked  Heaven  that  he  could  not,  and  re- 
plied : 

"  Not  under  the  law.  The  truth  is,  Mr. 
158 


EXIT  A  REPORTER 

Haig,  I — I  think  you  ought  to  be  satisfied  with 
this.  I  can't  argue  the  point,  but,  you  see, 
it  appears  there  are  things  in  your  past 
life—  And  you  know  a  paper  of  our  stand- 
ing can't  afford  to  employ—  I'm  very  sor- 
ry, and  I'm  really  surprised  that  such  a  man 

as  Bishop  Osgood " 

But  before  he  was  further  lost  in  the  maze 
of  his  emotions  he  learned  from  the  corner  of 
his  eye  that  the  reporter — now  a  reporter  no 
more — had  shrunk  from  the  room,  and  he 
was  enabled  to  settle  back,  with  a  sigh  of  re- 
lief, to  his  editorial. 


159 


xn 

THE  BETTER  PART  OF  VALOUR 

THE  next  thing  of  which  John  was  dis- 
tinctly conscious  was  the  realization  of  being 
in  his  uncle's  study,  and  of  having,  impul- 
sively, somewhat  helplessly,  laid  the  whole 
case  before  the  churchman.  It  was  a  mean- 
ing thing  that,  whereas  he  had  once  consid- 
ered it  an  honour  to  come  to  this  source  for 
counsel  and  assistance,  he  now,  in  so  far  as 
he  was  capable  of  experiencing  any  subsidi- 
ary emotion,  confessed  it  at  the  outset  as  an 
appeal  spiritually  hopeless  and  materially 
degrading. 

The  bishop,  on  his  part,  was  much  dis- 
tressed and  more  disturbed.  First  of  all, 
however,  he  refused,  of  course,  to  believe 
that  the  confession  could  have  been  sincere 
if  it  inculpated  so  exemplary  a  Christian  as 
Mr.  Gwynne.  From  this  sentiment  John  was 
160 


THE  BETTER  PART  OF  VALOUR 

too  weary  to  dissent,  but  there  were  conclu- 
sions far  more  pressing  to  combat,  and  with 
these  he  was,  at  first  confusedly,  forced  to 
deal.  For  Bishop  Osgood  was  keenly  aware 
of  his  responsibility.  He  had  for  some  time, 
as  Haig  had  surmised,  observed  its  ap- 
proach; he  had  even  come  to  regard  it  as 
logical,  if  not,  indeed,  as  inevitable ;  yet  now 
that  it  was  here  he  was  none  the  more  ready 
to  treat  with  it. 

He  admitted  and  defended  his  revelation 
to  Gwynne.  As  he  had  at  that  time  regarded 
the  affair — and  he  said  this  in  a  tone  which 
covertly  implied  that  he  now  regarded  it  far 
differently — he  could  not,  he  pointed  out,  con- 
scientiously, have  asked  a  recommendation 
under  false  colours.  If  Gwynne  had  with- 
held the  full  knowledge  from  John's  employ- 
ers, that  was  Gwynne's  fault,  not  the  bish- 
op's, and  had  been  committed,  the  latter  was 
sure,  out  of  sheer,  though  mistaken,  kindness 
of  heart.  It  was,  moreover,  proof  positive 
of  the  politician's  innocence  in  the  final  detec- 
tion. 

All  this  and  more,  though  he  considered 
161 


THE  THINGS  THAT  ARE  CJESAR'S 

it  sophistry,  Haig  let  dumbly  pass.  The 
mere  fact  of  not  having  at  first  to  talk  rested 
him,  and  as  he  rested,  something  of  strength 
gradually  returned.  Listening  to  the  bish- 
op's words  he  found  that  he  had  half-ex- 
pected them.  He  did  not,  just  then,  care. 
He  knew  that  the  present  most  important 
point  must  at  last  be  reached,  and  at  last  it 
was. 

"  Of  course,"  began  the  bishop,  with  some 
degree  of  hesitation,  not  to  say  reluctance, 
"  all  this  is  most  unfortunate,  yet  I  can't  see 
that  it  arose  from  any  but  the  best  intentions 
on  the  part  of  all  concerned,  excepting,  of 

course,  Mr. what's  his  name,  your  city 

editor! — who  is  naturally  unspeakable.  So  " 
— he  tried  bravely  to  smile — "we  must  just 
make  the  best  of  it  and  begin  all  over 
again.  Life,  you  will  find,  is  mostly  made 
up  of  beginnings-over;  here  am  I  at  my 
age,  for  instance —  Now,  we  can't,  just  at 
present,  be  choosers.  You've — you've  had 
some  experience  in  banking.  Well,  I 
know  very  intimately  Mr.  Parton.  He 
is  at  the  head  of  one  of  the  largest  banks 
162 


THE  BETTER  PART  OF  VALOUR 

in  this  city,  and  I'll  see  if  I  can't  get  you 
with  him." 

It  is  a  cynical  sign-post  indicative  of  how 
little  we  are  advanced  upon  the  last  stage  of 
evolution,  a  significant  indication  of  how 
strong  is  yet  our  brute  inheritance,  that  the 
lower  emotions  are  in  most  men  still,  at  the 
time  of  test,  the  strongest.  A  month  earlier 
the  bishop  would  never  have  made  his  now 
easy  proposition;  a  day  earlier  John  Haig 
would  never  have  made  the  reply  which  at 
this  instant  sprang  ready  to  his  lips.  The 
one  rag  of  his  old  garment  which  then  seemed 
to  remain  clinging  to  him  was  the  conviction 
that  he  could  not  depend  for  at  least  his  di- 
rect support  upon  such  a  man  as  Bishop  Os- 
good  here  proved  himself  to  be ;  that  he  must 
earn,  somehow,  his  own  bread  and  butter. 
Yet,  rightly  or  wrongly,  he  was  an  outcast, 
and,  rightly  or  wrongly,  he  must  hide  the 
mark.  He  hung  his  head,  but  spoke  with  cal- 
culation : 

"A  bank?"  he  repeated.  "Why,  you 
know  they  wouldn't  take  me  there." 

"  I  am  coming  to  that.  I  was  certainly 
163 


THE  THINGS  THAT  ARE  (LESAR'S 

right  in  telling  Mr.  Gwynne  everything,  as 
you,  I  took  it  for  granted,  were  aware  of  my 
course  and  would,  at  any  rate,  certainly  have 
agreed  in  it.  But  we  both — we  both  seem  to 
have  held  a — a  bit  too  high  an  opinion  of 
the  world.  People  seem  to  look  at  these 
things  very  differently  from  the  way  we  sup- 
posed they  should — from  the  way  we  looked 
at  them.  I,  who  have  lived  so  long  among 
men,  should  have  known  it.  Indeed,  they  are 
so  strenuous  about  it  that  I  admit  you've 
cause  for  complaint  against  my  ignorance  as 
quite  unjustifiable.  But  I've  all  my  life  been 
contented  to  keep  myself  shut  up  in  what  ap- 
pears to  have  been  a  world  of  my  own  devis- 
ing, and,  as  I've  intimated,  I'm  only  just  be- 
ginning to  see  how  wrong  I  was  in  such  blind 
action.  I  was  so  much  a  man  apart  that  I 
thought  my  world  was  that  of  right.  Oh,  this 
incident  has  taught  me  a  bitter  lesson !  I  can 
see  now  that  I  was  all  the  while  committing 
by  my  very  attitude  a  sin  of  pride  to  think — 
if  I  considered  it  at  all — that  the  vast  ma- 
jority of  minds,  quite  as  good  as  mine, 
hadn't,  after  all  these  generations,  arrived 
164 


THE  BETTER  PART  OF  VALOUR 

at  a  clearer  view.  I've  so  kept  myself  to 
myself  alone  that  Pin  as  yet  unfitted  intel- 
ligently to  follow  their  reasoning,  but  I  can 
at  least  submit  to  it  now  that  I  see  clearly 
my  former  false  position.  The  great  prevail- 
ing standards  against  all  sin  must  be  in  some 
way  the  more  or  less  direct  expression  of  the 
divine  will.  '  Vox  populi — '  you  understand. 
Yet,  in  your  case,  I  know  so  well  that  you're 
all  right,  and  that  you're  an  exception,  that 
it  wouldn't  be  necessary,  it  wouldn't  even  bo 
right,  to  make  a  clean  breast  of  them — that, 
in  short,  I'll — I'll  not  mention  the  past  to  Mr. 
Parton.  You  see  how  perfectly  I  trust  you." 
Whatever  were  the  other  five  parts  of  this 
somewhat  wandering  and  otherwise  unclassi- 
cal  oration,  the  conclusion,  at  any  rate,  was 
weak.  Yet,  though  John  saw  that,  he  saw 
also  that  his  uncle  felt  it  just  as  keenly,  and 
so,  partly  from  pity,  and  partly  from  more 
selfish  sentiments,  reached  by  the  appeal  of 
the  conquestio,  he  accepted  its  offer  with  un- 
feigned gratitude  and,  as  some  further  reply 
was  required  to  bridge  the  embarrassing 
chasm  of  moral  surrender,  he  devoted  what 
165 


THE  THINGS  THAT  ABE  CESAR'S 

energy  he  had  gathered  together  towards  dif- 
fering, here  and  there,  with  the  bishop  upon 
the  side  issues. 

"  I  think,"  he  none  the  less  ingenuously 
submitted,  "  that  you  go  a  little  too  far  in 
your  acceptance  of  the  verdict  of  the  crowd. 
I  admit  that  we  went  too  far  the  one  way 
heretofore,  but  now,  it  seems  to  me,  we're  in 
danger  of  going  a  little  too  far  in  the  other 
direction.  There  is  certainly  something 
wrong  with  the  obtaining  attitude.  It  may 
not  be  for  us  to  right  it,  or  even  to  say  where 
it  is,  but  there's  something  wrong  somewhere. 
To  begin  with  the  prisoners  themselves,  you 
can't  tell  what  sort  of  men  they  are  by  the 
way  they  behave  in  jail,  and  so  you  haven't 
any  way  to  judge  whether  or  no  they'll  be 
dangerous  when  they  get  out.  The  habitual 
criminals  are  the  best  prisoners,  and  the 
worst  criminals  are  often  the  most  religious." 

"  Where  we  were  fundamentally  wrong," 
replied  the  bishop,  "  was  in  our  conception  of 
the  law.  It's  true  that  the  law  is  just  the 
codified  logic  of  ethics,  and  so  has  a  sanction. 
But  it  is  also  simply  an  expression  of  popu- 
166 


THE  BETTER  PART  OF  VALOUR 

lar  opinion.  It  is  public  opinion  that  makes 
ethics,  and  ethics  make  the  laws.  But  laws 
are  not  the  expression  of  the  whole  of  public 
opinion,  and  what  remains  unexpressed  is 
the  great  body  of  the  unwritten  law  which  we 
failed  utterly  to  take  into  account." 

"  But  then  the  law  ought  to  be  the  com- 
plete expression." 

"  So  should  all  men  be  perfect.  They  will 
be  some  day,  but  we  haven't  developed  that 
far  yet.  The  race,  and  with  it,  of  course,  the 
law,  is  progressing  towards  perfection,  and 
that  is  the  best  we  have  at  present  a  right  to 
ask  of  it.  Such  as  it  now  is,  it  pretty  gen- 
erally appeals  to  our  logical  conscience — and 
conscience  comes  from  God." 

"  But  all  men,  wherever  it  comes  from, 
haven't  the  same  highly  trained  conscience." 

"  Then,  as  we  must  all  make  for  righte- 
ousness, the  most  conscientious  must  make 
the  less  conscientious  obey  through  fear  of 
punishment." 

"  Why,  that's  the  old  lex  talionis! " 

"  Certainly.  The  savages  among  us  must 
be  treated  as  savages.  Except  so  they  are 
167 


THE  THINGS  THAT  ARE  CAESAR'S 

not  safe;  they  can't  appreciate  any  other 
way." 

Haig,  at  all  events,  was  appreciating  his 
unfitness  for  argument.  He  sought  to  turn. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  "  if  the  law's  imperfect 
because  it's  of  man,  the  ethical  sense  at  least 
ought  to  be  perfect  because  it's  of  God,  you 
say,  and  whether  the  legal  punishment  is  too 
light  or  whether  it  is  too  heavy,  the  punish- 
ment of  popular  opinion  ought  to  fit  the 
crime.  Now,  popular  opinion  deliberately 
puts  the  whole  burden  of  the  matter  on  the 
shoulders  of  the  law,  so  it  ought  to  stand 
by  what  the  law  says.  It  chooses  a  faulty 
agent,  but  it  is  a  choice  and  should  be  abided 
by.  When  the  law's  done  with  a  man,  society 
ought  to  be  satisfied." 

The  bishop  sadly  shook  his  head. 

"My  dear  boy,"  he  replied,  "that's  all 
very  well  in  theory,  but  not  in  fact.  In  fact, 
we  don't,  any  of  us,  live  for  ourselves  alone. 
We  can't  even — things  being  as  they  are — 
live  only  for  those  who  love  us.  We  must 
live  for  the  whole  race,  for  each  and  every 
one  of  God's  creatures.  In  these  matters, 
168 


THE  BETTER  PART  OF  VALOUR 

then,  you  must ,  in  so  far,  sink  yonr  individu- 
al ity  and  inquire  what  is  best  for  the  race. 
Now  that  race,  you  may  depend  upon  it, 
knows  better,  as  a  race,  than  any  one  mem- 
ber of  it,  and  by  the  race-conscience — divine- 
ly inspired,  as  an  integral  part  of  the  high 
motive  in  the  great  drama — certain  customs 
are  ordained,  and  in  it  certain  instincts  are 
engendered.  You  may  rely  on  it,  I  say,  that 
they  are  right." 

"  In  every  case  ?  " 

"  When  they  are  outgrown  they  are  cast 
off,  easily  and  naturally,  for  new  ones.  Your 
case,  as  I've  said,  is  an  exception.  But  all 
these  instincts  are  from  the  many  for  the 
many.  Consequently,  you  can't  expect  those 
who  are  unacquainted  with  the  details  of  an 
exception  to  admit  it  as  an  exception,  or  to 
drop  other  affairs  to  inquire  into  its  merits. 
You  know  and  I  know  that  yours  is  one.  The 
only  proper  thing  for  us  to  do,  the  only  right 
way,  as  I  have  said,  and  the  only  way  we  can 
hope  to  succeed — and  I'm  beginning  to  think 
that  success  and  right  are  usually,  at  the 
goal,  hand  in  hand — is  simply  not  to  offend 
is  169 


THE  THINGS  THAT  ABE  CAESAR'S 

the  many  by  letting  them  know  anything 
about  it." 

"  And  that  is  why  you  counsel  silence  ?  " 

"  It  is.  This  has  been  a  blow  to  us  both, 
but  every  blow  of  this  sort  has  its  lesson. 
Our  duty  in  this  world  is  to  submit  to  the 
corrections  of  Heaven  and  try  to  see  their 
reason." 

"  I  don't  see  the  logic  of  this  one." 

"  I've  told  you.  Think  over  what  I  -have 
said.  You  must  not  get  morbid  and  feel  that 
you've  lost  anything  by  this  accident.  What 
have  you  lost?  You're  the  same  man  at  this 
moment  who  has  sat  here  and  talked  to  me 
before  to-day.  We  are  always  in  motion  in 
this  life;  the  spiritual  world  is  just  as  much 
in  motion  as  the  material,  and  if  you  have 
not  changed  for  the  worse,  it  is  pretty  cer- 
tain that  you  have  changed  for  the  better." 

"  How  can  that  be  ?  "  asked  John. 

The  bishop  hesitated,  but  only  for  the 
twinkling  of  an  eye. 

"  Well,"  he  replied,  "  haven't  you  indeed 
gained  an  invaluable  knowledge  of  the  real 
world?  Haven't  we  both?  And  isn't  it  the 
170 


THE  BETTER  PART  OF  VALOUR 

real  world,  after  all,  in  which  we  and  all  men 
must  live?  However  fine  the  stand  we  tried 
to  take,  it  was  a  false  stand,  and  now  at 
last  we  plant  our  feet  on  the  firm  basis  of 
fact.  Fact  is  just  another  word  for  unpleas- 
ant truth,  but  because  a  truth  is  unpleasant 
does  not  by  any  means  prove  that  it's  wrong ; 
indeed,  it  seems  more  and  more  to  me  to  be 
an  evidence  of  its  righteousness.  I  am  speak- 
ing, of  course,  abstractly  and  of  the  world  of 
decency." 

"But,"  said  John,  "I  have  always 
thought  that  a  falsely  conceived  nobility 
could  be,  and  generally  must  be,  finer  than 
an  ignoble  truth.  I've  always  felt  that  a  sub- 
lime fallacy  is  truer  than  a  worldly  fact,  and 
that  to  regard  ethical  things  in  any  other 
sense  was  to  regard  them  with  a  sense  of 
cunning." 

"  But,  my  dear  boy,  you  are  calling  little 
things  by  big  names.  I  am  sure  that  you 
will  agree  with  me  that  you  are  at  any  rate 
no  worse  than  most  men,  and  that  you  will 
not  be  regarded  as  worse  so  long  as  you 
maintain  the  civil  silence  which  the  mature 
171 


THE  THINGS  THAT  ARE  CESAR'S 

thought  of  generations  has,  for  some  reason 
or  other,  determined  is  best.  I  think  you 
know  me  well  enough  to  be  sure  that  I 
would  not  for  worlds  counsel  you  to  any 
wrong " 

"  Oh !  "  John  protested,  "  I'm  sure  of  that, 
of  course.  And  don't — please  don't  think 
that  I  blame  you  in  any  way  for  all  this.  I 
suppose  we've  each  in  our  own  manner  suf- 
fered from  a  common  delusion  and  both  in- 
curred a  common  awakening." 

The  churchman  nodded. 

"  Exactly,"  he  replied.  "  Reason  from 
that  and  you  will  see  that  I  am  right  at  last, 
and  that  the  world  isn't  a  very  wrong  place. 
To  look  at  the  situation,  too,  from  a  practical 
side:  Who,  in  the  final  summing  up,  knows 
of  your  past?  Besides  you,  only  an  uncle 
who  will  not  tell;  a  politician  who,  even 
judged  by  your  standard,  has  no  longer  the 
requisite  inducement ;  a  just  man  who  would 
not,  and  a  miserable  brute  whose  word  could 
not  affect  you  one  way  or  the  other." 

"  Then  you'd  advise  me  not  to  question 
any  longer  the  good  or  evil  of  prevailing 
172 


THE  BETTER  PART  OF  VALOUR 

laws?  I  see.  Well,  I  dare  say  you're  right. 
At  all  events,  Pm  just  now  removed,  as  you 
point  out,  from  the  necessity  of  questioning 
them.  I  haven't  the  inclination  to  do  so, 
either,  and  Pve  too  severely  learned  that  to 
try  it  is  dangerous  and  useless.  It  all  seems 
to  come  to  this:  that  one  might  as  well  be  a 
utilitarian  in  this  life,  since,  be  the  laws 
whatever  else  they  choose,  they're  inbred  and 
omnipotent." 

"  They  are.  The  rest  will  come  in  time. 
Of  course,  all  this  has  been  a  terrible  shock, 
but  there  is  only  ill  to  be  had  by  dwelling 
upon  that  side  of  it  now.  Now,  in  fact,  it  is 
necessary  only  to  add  that  you  have  centred 
your  hopes  too  exclusively  upon  one  thing. 
My  dear  John,"  the  bishop  concluded,  t_shall 
I  tell  you  the  reason  of  all  unhappiness?  It 
is  because  we  focus  our  hopes.  We  focus 
our  telescopes  upon  one  star,  and  that  goes 
out  and  we  are  left  in  darkness.)  Though  all 
the  myriads  of  heaven  blaze,  they  can  blaze 
then  not  for  us.  Do  not  focus  upon  any  one 
star  to  the  exclusion  of  the  rest.  Sweep 
the  whole  heavens,  and  so,  though  a  thou- 
173 


THE  THINGS  THAT  ARE  CESAR'S 

sand  stars  go  out,  there  will  still,  for  you,  be 
delight  in  a  hundred  thousand.  Be  as  provi- 
dent with  your  hopes  as  you  are  with  your 
gold.  The  wise  man  distributes  his  savings 
among  many  banks." 


174 


XIII 

SIR  ORACLE   RICKER 

HAIO  slept  that  night  and  the  fact  was 
significant.  It  stood,  of  course,  chiefly  for 
exhaustion,  but  it  was  not  without  a  modicum 
of  the  acquiescence  which  is  the  most  con- 
vincing sign  of  failure.  He  had  suddenly 
been  thrust  back,  down  the  hill  of  his  old  de- 
sire, and  he  had  lost  in  the  fall  something  of 
the  power  that  would  have  enabled  him  once 
more  to  take  up  the  weary  task  of  Sisyphus. 
He  awoke  mentally,  of  course,  to  no  realiza- 
tion of  this,  but  the  lack  of  comprehension 
for  any  save  material  change  was  in  itself 
one  of  his  gravest  symptoms.  He  bathed, 
and  he  came  from  the  cold  tubbing  with  a 
real  zest  to  undertake  what  the  bishop  had 
called  beginning  over ;  but  he  had  received  a 
blow  which  made  it  impossible  for  him  yet  to 
return  to  the  former  view  that  would  have 
175 


THE  THINGS  THAT  ARE  CAESAR'S 

regarded  such  a  beginning  as  a  compromise 
and  something  worse. 

Of  Phyllis,  however,  he  was  thinking  not 
a  little,  and  there  was  the  most  significant 
feature  of  all.  He  did  not  feel  even  the  need 
to  justify  his  new  attitude  towards  her.  He 
was  in  a  healthy  physical  glow  and  a  mental 
glow,  less  healthy,  perhaps,  but  all  the  more 
imperative.  He  needed  her  now,  he  felt, 
more  than  ever.  What  though  she  was  the 
daughter  of  Billy  Gwynne?  John  was  a  citi- 
zen of  the  world.  Without  doubt  she  was  the 
pearl  among  women,  but  he  was  as  fit  to  win 
her  as — could,  if  he  tried,  fall  no  farther  short 
of  deserving  her  than — any  of  those  to  whom 
the  contest  was  open.  His  practical  consid- 
erations did  go  so  far  as  to  weigh,  for  a  brief 
moment,  the  matter  of  his  past  in  its  relation 
to  the  girl,  but  he  easily  dismissed  the  sub- 
ject with  the  thought  that  there  was  plenty  of 
time  for  telling  her  his  secret.  He  would  tell 
her,  of  course,  but  not  at  once.  He  failed, 
therefore,  to  note  that,  according  to  the 
image  of  her  which  was  then  in  his  mind's 
eye,  he  was  loving  not,  as  once,  the  schoolgirl 
176 


SIR  ORACLE  RICKER 

that  she  had  been,  but  the  woman  that  she 
was.  Yet  as  he  thought  of  her  his  whole  soul 
filled  with  an  odd  tenderness.  He  forgot,  so 
far  as  he  was  then  concerned,  that  he  had 
adopted  the  conventional  attitude,  and  deter- 
mined, with  this  single  return  to  his  original 
position,  that  he  was  at  any  rate  as  good  as, 
if  not  better  than,  her  father.  How  she  could 
be  the  daughter  of  this  politician  he  could 
not  guess.  He  knew  only  that  he  loved  her, 
that  he  needed  her,  that  he  must  have  her 
to-day,  now,  and  that  in  some  near  to-morrow 
he  must  win  her  forever  and  forever. 

At  breakfast  the  bishop  tentatively  put 
forth  the  suggestion  that  they  should  wait  a 
day  before  they  approached  the  financial 
stronghold  of  Parton  and  Company,  and 
Haig  found  himself  strangely  willing  to  wait. 
It  might  all  come  in  good  time;  he  was  no 
longer  to  play  a  hand  in  the  great  game  of 
life;  he  had  earned,  he  half -defiantly  de- 
clared, a  little  rest. 

After  luncheon  he  could  even  go  out  for 
a  stroll.  It  was  his  one  purpose  to  fill  out,  as 
best  he  might,  the  hours  before  those  during 
177 


THE  THINGS  THAT  ABE  (LESAR'S 

which  he  was  most  likely  to  find  Phyllis 
at  home,  and  his  steps  half-mechanically 
carried  him  in  the  direction  of  the  Gwynne 
house. 

Half-way  there  he  was  forced  to  pause 
before  the  apparition  of  Jimmy  Ricker,  fresh 
upon  his  afternoon  assignment,  but  keen  for 
gossip,  descending  greedily  upon  John,  and 
grinning  his  too  strikingly  fresh-toothed 
smile. 

"  Hello !  "  cried  Ricker,  joyously  solici- 
tous, like  the  best  of  us,  after  a  friend's  mis- 
fortune. "  What  was  the  trouble  with  you  at 
the  office?  I  heard  a  little  gab  about  it. 
What  was  the  fuss  ?  " 

"  Oh,"  replied  Haig  with  astonishing  ease, 
"  I  had  a  little  difference  of  opinion  with 
Fealy." 

"  Ain't  he  a  skunk,  though?  "  cried  Jimmy 
enthusiastically — it  was  his  favourite  sub- 
ject. "  Didn't  I  tell  you  to  watch  him?  " 

"It  was  a  case,"  John  reluctantly  ad- 
mitted, "  of  his  watching  me." 

"  Oh,  well " — Ricker  waved  all  hair-split- 
ting— "he's  a  skunk,  anyhow!  Didn't  you 
178 


SIR  ORACLE  RICKER 

ever  hear  what  he  done  to  met  Didn't  you! 
Why,  they  was  all  talkin'  about  itl"  The 
little  fellow  plunged  into  a  long  account  of 
his  own  wrongs,  and  for  some  short  time  Haig 
allowed  his  thoughts  to  wander,  comfortable 
with  the  assurance  that  he  would  escape  the 
cross-examination  which  he  had  begun  to 
fear. 

But,  at  the  conclusion  of  Ricker's  narra- 
tive, John  had  no  sooner  expressed  a  per- 
functory condolence  than  Jimmy,  with  the 
true  "  news-sense,"  fired  at  him  the  repeated 
question :  "  But  what  was  your  fuss  about, 
anyhow!  " 

John,  in  his  new  character,  considered. 
There  was  nothing  to  be  gained  by  antagoniz- 
ing the  absurd  city  editor.  Were  he  silent, 
he  might  bide  his  time  for  revenge,  whereas, 
should  he  speak  at  present,  he  was  certain 
that  this  well-meaning  gossip  would  see  to  it 
that  his  words  reached  the  office. 

"  W'ell,"  he  said  at  last  with  an  effort  at 
diplomacy,  "  Fealy  didn't  like  the  way  I  cov- 
ered a  story  that  he  sent  me  out  on." 

But  Jimmy  was  nothing  if  not  direct. 
179 


THE  THINGS  THAT  AEE  CESAR'S 

"  Say,"  he  persisted,  "  something  about 
the  Elridge  case,  wasn't  it?  " 

This  time  Haig  replied  in  a  tone  which 
partially  silenced  even  Ricker,  though,  as  he 
might  have  guessed,  he  was  but  adding  fresh 
fuel  for  future  wonder. 

"  Yes,"  he  snapped. 

The  true  reporter  never  shows  himself 
more  than  partially  abashed.  Ricker  took  a 
new  tack. 

"  Seen  what  we've  got  about  him  this 
morning? "  he  asked. 

"About  whom?" 

"  Elridge,  of  course." 

Haig  shook  his  head.  He  had  not  seen  it, 
and  did  not  just  then  care  what  it  was. 

"  Well,  say,  he's  jugged  this  time." 

In  John's  heart  interest  awoke  with  a 
start. 

"He's  what?"  he  asked. 

"  Arrested." 

"What  for?" 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know,  but  you  can  bet  it's 
safe!  He's  got  it  right  at  last.  That's 
straight." 

180 


SIR  ORACLE  RICKER 

"But  I  thought  they  didn't  know  where 
he  was." 

"Didn't  they,  though?  Oh,  he's  not  been 
nabbed  here !  They've  caught  him  in  his  own 
State.  Coin' t'  railroad  him  sure.  Happened 
last  night.  My,  I  tell  you  it's  a  great  game  1 " 
And  Jimmy  winked  as  if  he  partially  under- 
stood the  truth. 

The  wink  startled  John  even  more,  but  he 
nevertheless  managed  to  inquire: 

"How's  that?" 

"  Why — don't  you  see  ? — he'll  never  have 
a  chance  to  talk  about  these  people  over  here 
now.  He  was  arrested  for  another  thing — 
some  deal,  or  something,  of  his  up  there." 

In  Kicker's  tone  there  was  a  genuine  and 
innocent  admiration  for  the  genius  who  had 
conceived  this  stroke. 

"You  don't  mean  to  say,"  asked  John, 
"  that  '  these  people  '  were  back  of  it — of  the 
arrest,  I  mean?  " 

Ricker  laughed  mildly. 

"Bet  yo'  life!  Good  eye,  eh?"  Then, 
evidently  seeing  that  there  was  nothing  more 
to  be  learned  from  Haig,  the  reporter  broke 
181 


off  with :  "  Of  course,  you  can't  prove  it,  that's 
the  beauty  of  it ;  but  I  know  how  these  gangs 
work.  Well,  I've  got  to  get  around  here  to 
a  blamed  ministers'  meeting;  old  friend  of 
mine,  Dr.  Bellows,  goin'  t'  blow  off.  Fine  old 
chap.  Ever  met  him?  Salt  of  the  earth,  I 
tell  you.  Next  time  I  see  you,  I'll  tell  you 
about  a  funny  experience  I  had  with  him  a 
couple  of  years  ago.  So  long!" 


182 


XIV 
CUPID'S  coupfi 

IT  could  not  be  possible.  Even  Haig  could 
not  believe  it  possible  that  Elridge's  unlucky 
confession  was  behind  the  piece  of  news 
which  Kicker  had  just  imparted.  Yet  the  con- 
versation served,  at  any  rate,  to  recall 
Gwynne  to  his  memory,  recently  occupied 
only  with  considerations  of  the  fellow's 
daughter,  and  John's  blood  was  able  once 
more  to  warm  to  the  boiling-point. 

So  far  as  any  ethical  advancement  was 
concerned,  his  anger,  of  course,  meant  noth- 
ing. Rather  it  meant  a  further  retreat  from 
his  former  position,  for  it  was  blind,  unreason- 
ing, revengeful.  "Whatever  had  brought  it 
into  his  life,  its  controlling  motive  was  hate, 
the  hate  of  a  dog  that  a  man  has  beaten,  but 
failed  spiritually  to  subdue.  Yet  its  sheer 
violence  finally  so  focused  upon  the  man 
183 


THE  THINGS  THAT  ARE  CESAR'S 

alone  as  to  divorce  him  entirely  from  all  the 
rest  of  the  world,  and  allow  John,  two  min- 
utes later,  as  he  passed  Phyllis's  house,  to 
greet  that  young  lady  at  her  carriage-door 
with  perfect  equanimity. 

"  You  are  going  I  "  he  asked,  accepting 
her  little  gloved  hand. 

She  leaned  through  the  door  held  open  by 
a  stolid  coachman. 

"  You  weren't,  I  suppose !  "  she  laughed. 

"  Whither  thou  goest "  began  John. 

li  Oh,  not  until  you're  asked !  " 

"  I  had  hoped " 

"You  wouldn't  have  hoped  if  you'd 
known  my  mission." 

"  And  that  is " 

"  Shopping." 

"  How  delightful !  I  have  never  yet  set 
out  with  a  woman  upon  a  shopping  expedi- 
tion." 

"  Then  that  accounts  for  your  queer  point 
of  view." 

"It  isn't  pleasant?" 

"  I  like  it." 

"  But  I  mean  for  the  man." 
184 


CUPID'S  COUPfi 

"  You  are  always  thinking  of  yourself.  I 
might  have  known.  Well,  if  you  want  to 
see  whether  or  no  men  are  justified  in  their 
horror  of  it,  there  is  only  one  way  to 
learn." 

"  I  should  like  to  find  that  way." 

"  Very  well,  jump  in ;  but  I  warn  you  that 
experience  is  a  hard  mistress,  and  you'll  find 
it  a  bore  waiting  in  the  carriage." 

"  Oh,  I  don't  owe  experience  a  penny  for 
tuition  so  far  in  life!  And  as  for  the  tire- 
some part  of  it,  I  consider  that  it's  better  to 
be  bored  waiting  here  and  there  for  five  min- 
utes at  a  time  than  everywhere  for  the  whole 
afternoon." 

"  Then  hurry !  I  always  insist  on  prompt- 
ness when  I'm  shopping." 

He  got  in  beside  her  at  once;  the  door 
next  instant  closed  behind  them,  and  with  a 
delicate  clinking  of  the  harness,  the  horses 
began  their  rhythmical  course  over  the 
smooth  asphalt. 

It  was  a  crisp  autumn  afternoon,  and  the 
carriage  was  a  closed  one.  The  windows 
were  open,  to  be  sure,  and  through  them 
is  185 


THE  THINGS  THAT  ABE  CESAR'S 

came  all  the  noises  of  the  city ;  came,  too,  little 
kaleidoscopic  glimpses  of  the  crowds.  But 
to  both  the  young  people  inside  all  these 
things  were  very  far  away,  were  only  dis- 
tant echoes,  were  flotsam  and  jetsam  washed 
by  the  careless  tide  upon  their  desert  isle. 
They  were  alone  and  together. 

Haig  had  forgotten  everything  but  that; 
Phyllis  was  herself  fearfully  playing  with 
the  gladness  of  it.  Both  were  allowing  them- 
selves to  be  more  serious  than  ever  before 
since  the  night  of  the  bishop's  dinner. 

John  thought  of  this  and,  after  an  instant, 
began : 

"Do  you  know,  we're  just  a  thousand 
miles  away  again?  " 

She  made  her  last  attempt  at  levity. 

"  What  a  man  of  distances !  "  she  laughed. 
"  I  had  no  idea  you  were  what  your  papers 
call  '  travelled.' " 

"  Not  my  papers,  please.  I'm  out  of  all 
that  now." 

"Out  of  it?" 

John  began  to  foresee  another  explana- 
tion, and  merely  nodded. 
186 


CUPID'S  COUPE 

"  What ! "  pursued  Phyllis,  "  you're  no 
longer  with  the  Globe-Express!" 

"  No  longer.  I've  " — he  hesitated  an  in- 
stant and  then  added — "I've  determined  to 
go  into  a  bank." 

"How  prosaic!  What  ever  led  you  to 
believe  that  your  talents  didn't  run  towards 
journalism?  " 

"  My  employers." 

"  And  you  took  their  word  after  having 
heard  mine  to  the  contrary  1 " 

"  Ah,  now,  if  they  had  heard  your  word ! 
But,  after  all,  there  are  no  newspapers  in  the 
Hesperides." 

"And  that's  where  we  are  now?  Then 
the  Hesperides  must  be  duller  than  I'd  have 
thought  from  this.  There'd  be  no  interesting 
reporters  to  ask  one  for  one's  picture." 

"I  shall  introduce  newspapers  at  once," 
vowed  John. 

"I  hope  so.  But  here's  my  first  shop. 
I'll  be  only  a  moment,  for  I  want,  honestly, 
to  hear  more  about  the  garden." 

She  was  gone  with  a  stronger  puff  of  air 
from  the  opened  door  that  brought  him  back 
187 


THE  THINGS  THAT  ABE  CESAR'S 

to  America  with  a  sudden  flutter  of  lingerie 
that  solaced  his  exile.  Her  last  remark  was 
so  sincere  that,  for  her  part,  she  seemed,  in 
the  store,  to  hurry  a  great  deal,  though  to 
John  the  time  was  long  enough. 

Haig's  return,  however,  was  only  tempo- 
rary. He  was  for  a  moment  in  the  every-day 
life,  but  the  next  he  had  retreated,  chafing  at 
the  delay,  far  into  his  fancy. 

When  she  did  reappear  he  noticed  that  she 
was  giving  more  than  commonly  detailed  in- 
structions to  the  coachman. 

"  Now,"  she  said,  settling  herself  beside 
him,  as  they  again  set  off,  "I'm  going  to 
prove  to  you  that  I  am  interested  in  your 
strange  country.  I've  been  wrong  enough  to 
tell  Thomas  to  drive  us  round  about,  and  I've 
given  up  the  rest  of  my  shopping." 

John  attempted  a  mild  protest,  but  she 
cut  him  short. 

"  Please,"  she  said.  And  though  she  was 
smiling,  the  touch  of  her  gloved  hand  upon 
his  sleeve  and  the  very  serious  eyes  that 
were  looking  into  his  restored  him  easily 
enough  to  the  mood  he  so  desired. 
188 


CUPID'S  COUPE 

Of  troubles  with  one's  employers  and  the 
question  of  a  living  wage  she  had  never 
known,  and  so  never  thought  to  inquire  of 
him,  but  his  later  tone  had  once  more  half- 
discovered  to  her  the  sweet  something  which 
she  was  at  last  trembling  to  hear. 

Haig,  on  his  side,  was  anxious  enough  to 
begin.  He  was  intoxicated  by  their  proxim- 
ity, by  their  privacy.  There  was  in  it,  he  felt, 
something  delightfully  tacit,  and  this  delight 
of  it  drove  from  his  conscience  all  memory  of 
the  past.  Under  her  gaze  he  felt  just  now 
no  embarrassment  in  laying  bare  what  was 
then  to  him  the  one  important  secret  of  his 
heart — felt  only  that  he  must  speak  to  her 
about  it  all  as  a  child,  and,  swelled  with  the 
first  sense  of  mastery,  loved  her  the  better 
for  her  innocence  of  it. 

"My  country!"  he  repeated.  "It's  a 
land  where  only  two  people  can  live  at  a 
time,  I'm  afraid,  but  where  they  live  for- 
ever ;  '  a  land  where  all  things  always  seem 
the  same,'  and  from  which  those  two  can 
look  out  across  the  blue  waters  to  the 
horizon,  '  heart  handfast  in  heart,'  and  never 
189 


THE  THINGS  THAT  ARE  CESAR'S 

wish  to  take  ship  for  the  hidden  world  be- 
yond." 

Love  makes  all  men  poets,  and  John  was 
speedily  carried  away  by  the  creative  im- 
pulse. He  lost  himself  and  Phyllis  among 
the  images  he  called  easily  forth  to  their 
need ;  he  found  waiting  at  his  lips  poems  that 
he  had  forgotten  ever  to  have  read.  He  rose 
almost  to  real  art,  and  his  companion,  follow- 
ing him  with  wistful  eyes  already  tired  of 
this  world,  with  hand  that  she  had  forgotten 
to  withdraw  from  his  arm,  rose  also  and  lost 
herself  in  his  flight. 

It  was  thus  with  surprising  suddenness 
that  they  found  themselves  stopping  again, 
this  time  before  Phyllis's  home.  Both  were 
startled,  but  Haig,  as  a  man,  recovered  by 
far  the  more  quickly.  It  was  at  the  tip  of 
his  tongue  to  seize  the  instant,  to  make  in  so 
many  words  the  declaration  with  which  they 
had  both  been  playing,  but  he  hesitated  for 
one  brief  moment.  Then  the  tiger  had  de- 
scended, the  door  had  again  been  flung  open, 
and  as  John  leaped  out  and  shouldered 
about,  himself  to  help  his  companion,  he 
190 


CUPID'S  COUPE 

caught  a  glimpse  of  Billy  Gwynne  advancing 
from  far  down  the  street. 

"  It  was  a  pretty  fairy-tale,"  said  Phyllis. 

"  It  was  the  truth,"  was  all  that  John 
could  then  reply. 


191 


XV 

THE   DEAD   SPEAK 

HAIG  had  no  trouble  in  getting  into  the 
bank — the  trouble  was  to  stay  there.  If  the 
employment  had  come  to  him  while  he  was  in 
his  earlier  attitude  towards  life,  his  assur- 
ance would  have  safely  carried  him  through 
both  its  drudgery  and  the  unpleasant  mem- 
ories which  it  awakened.  But  now  things 
were  different.  He  had  had  a  taste  of  an 
easier  life,  and  he  had  accepted  the  conven- 
tional standard.  He  was  a  man  who  had  in 
his  life  something  of  which  he  must  be 
ashamed,  a  past  which  he  must  hide,  and  the 
now  hard  and  uncongenial  work  combined 
with  the  surroundings  to  make  secrecy  daily 
more  difficult. 

From  nine  o'clock  in  the  morning  until 
one  in  the  afternoon,  and  again,  after  a  brief 
period  allotted  for  luncheon,  until  the  bal- 
192 


THE  DEAD  SPEAK 

ance  was  found  at  five,  or  sometimes  at 
seven,  he  sat  in  a  damp-smelling,  echoing, 
sepulchral  room,  deep  behind  a  wire  cage,  on 
a  high  stool  at  a  higher  and  sloping  desk. 
There,  under  a  brilliant  incandescent  lamp 
that  burned  amid  the  gloom  however  brightly 
the  sun  might  be  shining  outside,  he  added, 
from  beneath  a  green  eye-shade,  with  neat 
pen  but  stiffened  fingers  and  swimming  brain, 
long  columns  of  dancing  figures  in  a  great 
blue-  and  red-lined  book.  For  a  man  accus- 
tomed to  most  humble  occupations  the  hours 
would  have  been  easy  enough,  but  for  any  the 
work  would  have  been  hard.  It  was  a  con- 
tinuous strain;  the  position  of  the  body  was 
unnatural,  and  the  faculties  must  be  ever  con- 
stantly alert — at  their  best.  Time  was  when 
Haig's  body  insensibly  accustomed  itself  to 
these  conditions,  and  his  mind,  while  regard- 
ing other  things,  could  at  the  same  time  be- 
come a  mere  counting-machine.  But  that 
time  was  past.  He  was  now  often  not  one 
hour  at  his  desk  before  his  back  ached,  his 
hand  grew  cramped,  and  his  head  throbbed 
with  pain. 

193 


THE  THINGS  THAT  AEE  CESAR'S 

Yet  he  kept  on.  About  him  he  saw 
younger  and  better-fitted  men  filling  higher 
positions,  and  older  ones  who,  after  years  of 
this  incessant  grind,  had  managed  to  gain 
and  could  just  gain  only  such  a  place  as  his 
own.  But  he  shut  his  teeth  together  and  kept 
stinging  eyes  and  weary  fingers  to  their  task. 
He  had  attacked  the  world  in  his  own  way 
and  been  beaten.  Now,  he  said,  he  had 
adopted  what  seemed  to  be  the  world's  own 
methods,  and  was  resolved  to  make  thereby 
his  way  to  the  front. 

Not  that  the  situation  was  without  its  ob- 
vious consolations.  His  evenings  were  at 
last  all  his  own,  and  the  bishop's  influence 
had  opened  to  him  many  doors,  through  one 
or  other  of  which  he  passed  nightly  into  the 
presence  of  Phyllis,  who  swiftly  grew  from 
girlish  uncertainty,  beneath  his  eyes,  to  a 
sweet  maturity  of  thought.  As  yet  he  had 
not  been  able  to  recover  the  chance  he  had 
thrown  away  in  her  carriage,  but  he  could 
nevertheless  gain  from  her  enough  silent 
messages  to  allow  him  to  bide,  in  peace,  his 
time.  He  was  not  yet  worried  over  the  ques- 
194 


THE  DEAD  SPEAK 

tion  of  the  wherewithal.  As  he  had  once 
been  too  idealistic,  he  was  now  too  common- 
sense  to  bother  about  that.  There,  and  there 
alone,  Billy  Gwynne  again  assumed  his  natu- 
ral relation,  in  Haig's  mind,  to  his  daughter. 
The  politician  was  perfectly  well  able,  as  he 
himself  had  said,  to  put  the  clerk  in  the  way 
of  all  that  was  necessary,  and  the  politician 
owed  the  clerk  all  that  he  could  give. 

Unavoidably  the  father  and  suitor  met, 
but  upon  such  occasions  the  former  was  sim- 
ply his  social  self  and  the  latter  a  man  of 
so  much  and  so  easily  the  same  type  as  to 
arouse  in  Gwynne's  mind  a  puzzling  doubt  as 
to  whether,  after  all,  this  was  a  Don  Quixote. 
Not  that  he  cared  to  give  the  matter  much 
thought.  Too  many  other  things  of  more 
moment  claimed  that  busy  gentleman's  atten- 
tion. His  family  was  not  in  the  class  that 
leans  towards  breakfast-table  confidences, 
and,  keen  as  he  might  have  been  in  most  mat- 
ters, he  was  too  closely  confined  by  his  own 
conception  of  morality  to  guess  that,  after 
the  interview  in  his  office,  such  a  man  as  Haig 
could  so  adapt  and  misapply  it  as  to  seek  his 
195 


THE  THINGS  THAT  ABE  CAESAR'S 

daughter.  He  had  merely  found  it  neces- 
sary, through  John's  own  fault,  added  to  a  de- 
ceptive manner  of  approach,  to  recall  certain 
things  to  the  young  man's  mind.  Beyond 
that  single  occasion  the  fellow's  personal  his- 
tory did  not  interest  him.  So  long  as  he  did 
not  meddle  with  Gwynne's  affairs,  Haig,  as 
a  well-certified  and  properly  conducted  per- 
son, might  fight,  unhampered  by  him,  his  own 
battle  in  the  great  social  war.  Gwynne,  at  all 
events,  was  too  much  of  a  gentleman,  he 
would  have  told  you,  to  interfere. 

Meanwhile,  John  was  becoming  well  ac- 
customed, if  not  to  his  new  work,  at  least  to 
his  new  point  of  view,  when  it  one  evening 
unexpectedly  received  an  authoritative  con- 
firmation. He  was  hurrying  away  from  the 
bank  after  a  particularly  hard  day  and, 
upon  rounding  the  corner  of  a  side  street  as 
a  short-cut  for  the  bishop's,  was  hailed  from 
a  doorway  by  an  unfamiliar  voice. 

"Hello!" 

Haig  looked  up.  Before  him  stood  an  un- 
certain individual,  heavy,  broad-shouldered, 
a  man  with  a  stoop  that  had  not  yet  degen- 
196 


THE  DEAD  SPEAK 

erated  into  a  slouch ;  a  face  which,  though  ob- 
viously never  intellectual  and  always  coarse 
of  feature,  must  yet  once  have  been  flushed 
and  fat  and  good-natured,  but  was  now 
peaked  and  drawn,  with  pale,  timid  eyes  and 
thin,  bloodless  lips.  The  voice  had  been 
strange  to  him  because  John  had  never  be- 
fore heard  it  raised  to  conversational  pitch; 
the  face  he  remembered  at  once  as  that  of  a 
man  who  had,  during  a  part  of  Haig's  term 
and  up  to  the  time  of  his  departure  from  the 
jail,  occupied  a  cell  in  the  same  tier  with  him. 

"  Hello !  "  he  replied,  and  put  out  his  hand 
with  just  a  shade  of  embarrassment.  He 
was  glad  to  see  the  fellow,  a  little  afraid,  per- 
haps, to  be  seen  with  him,  and  altogether  dis- 
turbed by  the  reminder  of  other  days.  In  the 
end,  the  sense  that  this  was  a  common  suf- 
ferer won  the  uppermost  place. 

There  was  a  moment's  silence.  The 
stranger  shuffled  his  heavy  feet  uneasily.  At 
last  he  tried  to  laugh. 

"Well,"  he  said  finally,  "you  see  I'm 
out." 

"  How  long?  "  asked  John. 
197 


THE  THINGS  THAT  ARE  OffiSAB'S 

"  Three  days.  I  got  the  regular  good-con' 
time  off,  of  course." 

"  Well "  Haig  hesitated.    He  had  seen 

this  man  every  day  for  close  upon  five  years, 
the  latter  half  of  his  prison  years ;  they  had 
done  each  other  all  those  thousand  little  clan- 
destine kindnesses  which  made  their  life  at 
all  endurable,  and  yet  he  did  not  know  his 
fellow's  name. 

"  I  guess  I'll  answer  to  Newton,"  said  that 
person. 

John  read  his  meaning  with  a  glance. 
The  renewed  association  quickened  his  per- 
ception and  revived  the  prison  directness. 
In  jail,  if  you  do  not  wish  entirely  to  miss  the 
chance  of  speaking,  you  must  say  exactly 
what  you  mean.  There  is  no  time  for  false 
modesty. 

"Why  didn't  you  stick  to  your  real 
name  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  No,  thanks.  I'm  going  in  for  the  square 
— the  other  thing  don't  pay — but  I'm  not  a 
sucker  all  the  same.  I'm  wise  enough  yet, 
an'  I  guess  all  my  other  names  are  too  well 
known." 

198 


THE  DEAD  SPEAK 

"But  I've  kept  mine." 

"  Oh,  that  was  different !  You  were  never 
out  for  the  regular  thing.  You're  on  the 
square,  too,  aren't  you!" 

John  flushed,  but  nodded. 

"  I  knew  you  were.  I've  been  looking  for 
you." 

"  Anything  particular?  " 

Again  Newton  shuffled  his  feet.  He 
looked  about  nervously. 

"Can't  we  get  a  drink  some'eres?"  he 
asked. 

John  led  the  way  to  an  empty  back-room 
in  a  lonely  saloon,  and  they  sat  down  at  the 
blackened  table  under  a  low  roof. 

"  Whisky!  "  asked  Haig. 

"  Not  on  your  life !  I'm  afraid  of  the 
stuff;  it  always  raises  the  devil  with  me. 
Give  me  a  beer." 

They  drank  for  a  minute  or  more  in  si- 
lence. Then — 

"  Well  ?  "  John  suggested. 

Newton  took  his  meaning  easily  enough. 

"It's  this  way,"  he  said,  still  evidently 
unused  to  the  effort  of  sustained  conversa- 
199 


THE  THINGS  THAT  AEE  CESAR'S 

tion.  "  The  day  before  I  left  we  had  a  new 
moke  in  that  used  to  have  something  to  do 
with  this  town.  Well,  that  was  the  day  after 
the  fire.  You  saw  about  the  fire !  " 

"  No,"  said  Haig,  anxious  only  to  get  on. 

"  Oh,  that  was  a  big  time !  Whole  north- 
west wing  burned.  But  I'll  tell  you  all 
about  that  later.  We  were  shy  on  room,  and 
so  as  I  was  a  good-con'  man  and  this  mug 
was  a  greeny,  they  doubled  us  up  for  the 
night." 

Newton  took  a  long  pull  at  the  beer  and 
John  began  a  devil's  tattoo  on  the  table. 

"  Well,"  the  former  at  last  continued,  "  we 
got  to  talkin'  all  night.  There  was  lots  he 
wanted  to  know  about  the  place,  an'  lots  I 
wanted  to  know  about  what  was  doin'  out- 
side. An'  it  turned  out  he  knew  you." 

"Who  was  he?" 

"  I'm  comin'  to  that — I'm  comin'  to  that. 
He  said  you  were  on  the  level  an'  you'd  stood 
by  him  the  best  you  knew  how,  an'  he  wanted 
to  do  you  a  good  turn  now  his  game  was  up. 
See?" 

"  You  must  mean  Elridge." 
200 


THE  DEAD  SPEAK 

"Yes,  that  was  him. — So  he  manages  to 
get  me  a  line  to  his  lawyer,  an'  I  stops  off 
there  once  I'm  out  an'  gets  a  letter  the 
lawyer-chap  had,  an'  I'm  to  give  it  to  you." 

"A  letter!"  repeated  the  bewildered 
John. 

Newton  at  once  took  the  defensive. 

"  I  don't  know  nothin'  else  about  it.  The 
lawyer-chap  said  it  was  all  on  the  level,  an' 
he  seemed  straight,  so  it  wasn't  no  business 
o'  mine  to  read  it." 

"Where  is  the  letter!" 

Newton's  thick  but  deft  hands  plunged 
into  an  inner  pocket  of  his  cheap  black  coat 
and  produced  an  envelope,  which  he  tossed 
across  the  board. 

Haig  opened  it  and  read  these  words  hur- 
riedly scrawled  in  lead-pencil  upon  a  sheet 
of  common  note-paper : 

"  Have  squared  Josephs.  Will  have  roll 
for  your  friends  Dearing  and  Cole  to-mor- 
row." 

The  missive  was  unsigned;  it  was  crum- 
pled and  torn ;  evidently  it  had  been  thought- 
14  201 


THE  THINGS  THAT  ARE  CESAR'S 

lessly  tossed  aside  and  then  recovered.  But 
the  writing  itself  was  clear,  and — as  there 
flashed  across  Haig's  brain  the  memory  that 
Bearing  and  Cole  were  the  two  contractors 
whom  Elridge,  in  his  bid  for  the  city  jail,  was 
supposed  to  have  "  bought  off  " — so  was  the 
writer. 

"  So  even  this  man  writes  letters,"  he  said 

with  forced  calm.    "  To  think  of  Gwynne 

.What  fools  they  are !    What  fools !  " 

Newton  detected  the  concealed  emotion, 
but  misconstrued  it. 

"It  wasn't  my  fault,"  he  protested. 
"What's  the  row?  I  thought  the  lawyer- 
chap  was  on  the  level.  I — I  wanted  to  help 
you." 

Haig  regarded  him  steadily,  smiling  now. 
The  man's  white  face  was  all  earnestness,  all 
concern.  His  light  eyes  quickened  with  anx- 
iety. The  kindness,  the  blind  sympathy, 
touched  John. 

"  There  isn't  any  trouble,"  he  said.    "  It's 

all  right.    I'm  much  obliged  to  you.    I  was  a 

little  surprised  at  first.    I  couldn't  see  how 

this  thing  could  be  of  any  use  to  me,  right 

202 


THE  DEAD  SPEAK 

away.    But  I  see  now  it  may  perhaps  be — 
sometime." 

A  few  weeks  before  he  would  not  have 
seen,  but  now  things  were  different.  Now 
he  was  playing  the  game  according  to  the 
rules,  and  a  trump  card,  however  unrequired 
for  the  trick  just  then  on  the  board,  was  al- 
ways worth  holding  fast  to.  He  replaced  the 
note  in  its  envelope;  he  slipped  it  carefully 
into  his  wallet. 

Newton  heaved  a  sigh  of  relief. 

"  Well,  I'm  glad  it's  all  0.  K.,"  he  said. 
"  You  seemed  to  take  on  so  I  thought  maybe 
I'd  put  my  foot  in  it." 

"  Not  at  all.  This  won't  be  of  any  use 
just  now,  but  it's  a  good  thing  to  have — a 
very  good  thing — and  I'm  ever  so  much 
obliged  to  you  for  coming  all  the  way  here  to 
do  this  for  me." 

He  looked  at  the  man,  smiling  again,  but 
Newton's  face  changed  from  white  to  red. 
His  eyes  dropped  to  the  stained  table,  and  he 
twitched  his  glass  nervously. 

"  I  guess  I  didn't  come  just  for  that,"  he 
finally  admitted. 

203 


THE  THINGS  THAT  AKE  CESAR'S 

Haig  waited. 

For  a  moment  more  Newton  trifled  with 
the  beer-glass ;  then,  gently  rocking  it  to  and 
fro  with  unsteady  hand  but  gaze  intent,  he 
continued : 

"  You  see,  this  is  the  way  of  it :  I'm  out 
now  an'  I  don't  mean  to  get  back.  The  graft 
don't  pay.  I  want  to  be  square,  but  how  the 
devil  can  I?  I'm  known;  I've  got  a  rotten 
bad  slate  an'  a  bad  name.  There  ain't  any 
reference  for  me,  an'  you  can't  get  much 
work  'thout  one.  I  could  'a'  gone  to  one  o* 
those  gospel-missions,  but  I  want  t'  forget 
my  record,  an'  they  won't  stand  for  any  keep- 
ing quiet  when  they  get  you  a  job.  I  could 
'a'  broke  stone  or  something  o'  that  sort  a 
year  or  two  ago,  but  I've  got  this  damned 
cough  now,  an'  it  makes  me  too  weak.  So — 
you  see — I — I  thought  p'raps " 

The  effort  was  too  much  for  him;  he 
stopped,  giving  a  push  to  his  glass  that  sent 
the  beer  spilling  over  the  table. 

John  rose  suddenly  to  his  feet.  Newton 
was  another  Haig  to  him.  He  understood 
him  too  well  to  doubt  his  sincerity.  He 
204 


THE  DEAD  SPEAK 

even  dropped  into  something  of  his  man- 
ner. 

"  Come  ahead !  "  he  cried,  trying  hard  to 
laugh.  "I've  been  up  against  your  very 
game;  I  know  it  through  and  through,  and 
I'll  guarantee  to  get  you  a  job  inside  of  an 
hour." 

For  Newton  one  glance  sufficed.  He  had 
sought  his  old  prison-fellow  as  an  equal,  as 
a  friend,  with  all  the  true  republicanism  of  a 
convict,  and  he  had  not  come  in  vain.  He  put 
out  a  hand  of  thanks  to  John. 

Then  a  strange  thing  occurred.  Haig 
saw  the  proffer  and  hesitated  to  respond. 
The  next  instant,  however,  and  before  even 
Newton's  quick  eye  could  have  detected  the 
reluctance,  an  odd  something  rose  into 
John's  throat,  the  sudden  badge  of  shame 
swept  across  his  face,  and  he  gripped  the 
man's  hand  heartily. 

"Do  you  think,"  he  asked,  still  striving 
for  the  lighter  notes,  "  do  you  think  you  could 
stand  such  a  berth  as  a  sexton's  ?  " 

"  Take  care  of  a  church  ?  "  gasped  New- 
ton. 

205 


THE  THINGS  THAT  ABE  CAESAR'S 

"  Only  a  small  affair,  a  little  chapel  down- 
town. I'm  sorry,"  Haig  continued,  seeing 
how  far  his  companion  was  taken  aback, 
"  but,  just  at  present  it's  the  only  thing  I 
happen  to  know  of.  Of  course  we'll  stick 
together,  and  I'll  keep  my  peelers  out  for 
something  better  all  the  while." 

"  Oh,  it  wasn't  that,"  Newton  reassured 
him.  "  Board  an'  lodging's  all  I'm  after  just 
now.  It  just  seemed  such  a  funny  game — 
me  in  a  church !  " 

"Why  not?  "  asked  Haig  almost  sharply. 
"  I'm  in  one  almost  every  Sunday,  and  I'm 
sure  you've  gone  often  enough  with  me  be- 
fore now." 

"  Oh,  up  there !  That  was  different.  We 
had  to." 

"  Well,"  continued  John  more  gently,  "  if 
you're  straight  now,  that's  the  place  for 
you." 

He  was  so  satisfied  with  his  own  compro- 
mise that  he  was  intolerant  of  any  doubt  in 
others. 

"  I  guess  you're  right,"  admitted  Newton. 

"  Of  course  I  am." 
206 


THE  DEAD  SPEAK 

"  I'd  do  it,  anyhow ;  you  can  bet  on  that. 
I'm  not  choicy.  I  only  was  thinkin'— 

"Well?" 

"  Supposin'  they'd  know,  you  know  ?  " 

"  Why  should  they?  As  long  as  a  man's 
square  his  past  life's  his  own  business.  I'm 
going  to  introduce  you  to  my  uncle,  who's — 
who's  a  bishop,  and  I  think  he  can  fix  things. 
I  heard  him  speak  of  this  job  only  last  night 
at  dinner.  All  you've  got  to  do  is  to  keep 
straight,  and  I  know  you'll  do  that,  all  right. 
The  rest's  my  own  affair." 

"  Yes,"  said  Newton  dubiously,  "  but  the 
only  real  way's  never  to  get  jugged  in  the 
first  place." 

"  What's  done's  done,"  protested  Haig, 
ruffled  once  more,  and  driven  to  that  last 
refuge,  the  adage — "  and  the  least  said,  soon- 
est mended." 

He  did  not  like  these  expressions  of  an 
attitude  he  deprecated,  and,  having  delivered 
himself  of  the  final  platitude,  he  turned  the 
conversation  into  those  more  practical  chan- 
nels where  argument,  which  he  always  de- 
tested, must  give  place  to  less  futile  things. 
207 


THE  THINGS  THAT  ARE  CAESAR'S 

Once  at  the  house,  he  made  straight  for 
his  uncle's  study,  where,  in  a  mullioned  bow- 
window,  Bishop  Osgood  was  reading  the  De 
Imitatione. 

As  Haig  entered  first,  the  devotee  rose 
smiling.  They  had  not,  of  late,  been  seeing 
much  of  each  other;  there  seemed  to  have 
been  a  tacit  understanding  whereby  each 
should  gracefully  regard  the  other's  present 
discomfiture  by  some  such  arrangement,  and 
so,  no  doubt,  the  clergyman's  smile  was  a  bit 
quizzical.  But  it  was,  at  all  events,  well- 
bred,  and — 

"Well,"  he  began,  as  John,  now  that  he 
was  here,  involuntarily  paused.  "  How's  it 
gone  to-day  I " 

As  he  spoke  he  caught  sight  of  Newton, 
half-hidden  by  a  kindly  shadow,  and  came  a 
few  steps  forward. 

"  Uncle,"  said  John,  "  this  is  Mr.  Newton, 
an  old  friend  of  mine." 

The  two  men  nodded.  The  former  con- 
vict was  again  about  to  offer  his  hand, 
but  Haig,  as  if  unseeing,  stepped  impul- 
sively between  the  two  and,  as  Newton's 
•  208 


THE  DEAD  SPEAK 

movement  was  unnoted  by  the  bishop,  con- 
tinued : 

"  He  comes  here  from  another  city,  and 
he  wants  some  sort  of  work.  Of  course,  I 
can  answer  for  him,  and  I  thought  he'd  make 
a  first-rate  sexton  at  Mr.  Marvin's  new  mis- 
sion. I  remember  you  said  he  needed  a  good 
man." 

The  bishop  was  still  of  a  somewhat  un- 
suspecting nature;  he  had  not  yet  had  his 
eyes  opened  quite  as  far  as  they  might  be. 
He  was  nervous,  moreover,  in  John's  pres- 
ence, anxious  to  atone  for,  or  at  least  cover, 
this  by  any  reasonable  favour,  and  above  all 
desirous  to  escape  the  once  so  valued  private 
conversations  with  his  nephew.  Thus  it  hap- 
pened that  he  then  greeted  Newton  pleasant- 
ly, arranged  to  get  him,  next  day,  a  position 
as  caretaker  at  the  little  chapel  in  the  slums, 
and  said  good-bye,  with  no  further  thought 
of  inquiring  into  the  condition  of  either  of 
his  pensioners. 


209 


XVI 

A  DECLARATION  OF  DEPENDENCE 

THERE  had  been  a  theatre-party,  with 
Mrs.  Gwynne  in  the  role  of  an  ideal  chaper- 
on, which  had  ended  at  Phyllis's  home,  and 
after  which  John,  with  the  stubborn  deter- 
mination of  a  half -formed  plan,  had  held  on 
until  all  the  other  guests  had  taken  their 
leave,  and  even  the  mother  of  his  sweetheart 
had  somehow  insensibly  vanished. 

Yet  now  that  after  his  week  of  waiting  he 
stood,  the  door  propitiously  open,  upon  the 
very  threshold  of  action,  Haig  felt  neverthe- 
less tremulously  unprepared  for  entrance. 
He  was,  indeed,  not  at  all  certain  as  to  the 
manner  best  fitted  for  the  crossing  of  the  sill. 
When  he  had  first  met  her  he  would  not  have 
paused  to  consider  any  questions  of  etiquette, 
but  now  he  thought  of  himself  always  as 
changed.  Put  suddenly  before  him  an  un- 
210 


A  DECLARATION  OF  DEPENDENCE 

expected  need  for  action  and  he  would  still 
plunge  forward  as  impulsively  and  as  as- 
suredly as  of  old ;  but  introduce  the  slightest 
element  of  suspense,  and  he  would  hold  back 
trying  to  plan  both  words  and  movement. 
This  might  last  but  for  a  brief  period,  yet 
he  still  retained  all  his  former  inaptitude  for 
scheming  and,  bitterly  denying  the  slightest 
sign  of  weakness,  he  would  at  once  lose  him- 
self in  anger  with  his  mental  perturbation. 

They  were  seated  in  the  library  on  the 
second  floor — the  affair  had  been  a  small  one 
and  most  informal — and  even  John's  share 
of  the  conversation  had  been  borne  glibly 
enough  while  others  were  present,  but  once 
they  were  alone  a  nervous  little  silence  ob- 
tained. John  was  vowing  himself  to  his 
course,  and  Phyllis  was  woman  enough  to 
know  it. 

The  girl,  however,  was,  in  the  nature  of 
things,  less  able  to  bear  the  pause,  and  was 
thus,  with  one  of  her  timid  attempts  at  the 
commonplace,  the  first  to  break  it. 

"So  you  are  miles  away  again?"  she 
asked. 

211 


THE  THINGS  THAT  ARE  CAESAR'S 

Sadly  fearing  that  he  had  been  overwork- 
ing the  figure,  he  must  yet  grasp,  perforce, 
its  slender  opportunity. 

"  In  the  garden  of  Hesperides,"  he  an- 
swered. 

"That's  unkind,"  said  Phyllis,  "for  we 
have  a  garden  here  of  our  own — not  a  Greek 
one,  to  be  sure,  or  even  a  German  one,  you 

know — but  a  garden Well,  you  can  see 

it  from  that  window  at  your  back." 

John  turned  as  if  he  had  been  struck. 
Behind  him  were  a  pair  of  swinging  win- 
dows. With  instant  inspiration  he  rose  and 
flung  them  open. 

"  Come,"  he  demanded,  "  you  invite  com- 
parison." 

"  Hardly  that,"  she  disclaimed,  "  only 
inspection." 

But  she  followed  him  out  upon  a  little 
hand-railed  iron  balcony,  and  he  drew  the 
stained  windows  behind  them. 

It  was  one  of  those  strangely  artificial, 
almost  theatrical  nights  which  are  supplied 
only  by  the  balmy  winters  of  our  Middle  At- 
lantic States.  The  air  was  still,  but  stimulat- 
212 


A  DECLARATION  OF  DEPENDENCE 

ing ;  cool,  yet  one  which  in  any  other  quarter 
of  the  globe  would  be  proper  to  autumn.  It 
seemed,  too,  of  that  luminous  green  quality, 
so  rich  at  all  times,  and  in  these  latitudes  so 
rare.  The  sky  was  no  longer  a  canopy.  In- 
stead, it  conveyed  that  impression  of  space 
which  is  so  poignant  on  a  clear  night  when 
the  moon  has  resigned  its  power  to  the  living 
multitudes  of  stars.  Above  the  lovers  these 
palpitated  in  myriad  legions  from  the  near- 
est planet  to  dim  distant  dust  of  worlds.  Far 
to  the  eastward  red  Mars  was  overtaking 
pale  Saturn  close  to  where,  just  above  the 
horizon,  glowed  King  Jupiter. 

Dimly  both  man  and  girl  felt  that  the 
planets  were  throbbing  with  speech,  with 
music,  were  alive  with  a  message  for  these 
two  who  seemed  alone  in  all  the  universe  be- 
neath them.  Their  earnest  light  washed  the 
bare  limbs  of  the  trees  below,  spiritualized 
them  with  cold  flame  from  the  altar.  It  sub- 
dued on  the  balcony  the  rococo  background 
of  the  dimly  lighted,  cool-coloured  window, 
threw  into  purified  relief  John  Haig's  still 
honest  face  and,  as  the  lover  looked  at  Phyl- 
213 


THE  THINGS  THAT  ABE  CESAR'S 

lis,  played  round  about  her  a  shaft  of  light 
from  the  volcanic  core  of  space  that  made 
cryptic  her  filmy  pale  draperies  and  en- 
hanced the  whiteness  of  an  ungloved  arm,  of 
virgin  shoulders,  and  slim  throat.  Her  whole 
lithe  girlish  figure  was  etherealized,  and  her 
parted  lips,  her  delicate  features,  her  chest- 
nut hair,  all  caught  the  strange  light,  and 
radiated  her  awe  of  it.  Her  great  hazel  eyes, 
upturned,  reflected  it. 

The  silence  was  this  time  one  that  neither 
wished  to  break.  Phyllis  was  again  the  girl 
of  the  earlier  picture,  and  John,  feeling  only 
that  he  loved  her  in  whatever  guise,  feared 
at  first  to  touch  her  lest  she  should  vanish 
into  the  starlight.  Yet  now  his  earlier  form 
of  indecision  had  disappeared,  and  when  he 
kissed  her  she  neither  spoke  nor  shrank  from 
him. 

He  took  one  of  her  hands  between  both 
of  his  own. 

"You  have  known  it  always,"  he  whis- 
pered. 

She  looked  up  in  his  grave,  clear-cut 
face. 

'      214 


A  DECLARATION  OF  DEPENDENCE 

"  Always,"  she  answered. 

"  And  you  know  that  you  will  know  it  al- 
ways ? "  he  asked. 

And  "  Always,"  she  again  replied. 

Her  arms  twined  tight  about  his  neck. 
They  were  firm,  warm,  living  arms;  they 
thrilled  him,  but  the  contact  brought  both 
lovers  back  to  the  world,  and  they  drew  apart 
instinctively  for  a  moment,  a  little  frightened 
by  all  that  they  had  done. 

For  a  moment  only.  Then  John  mas- 
tered it  and  drew  her  with  him.  If  they  were 
back  to  earth,  the  earth  was  all  the  dearer 
for  these  new  selves  of  theirs.  He  held  her 
close  again,  close  against  him,  their  lips  to- 
gether in  one  of  those  kisses  that  tell  of  a 
long  hunger,  of  thirst,  of  delay  turned  sweet 
in  this  consummation.  He  felt  her  arms  once 
more  straining  about  his  shoulders,  he  felt 
her  breast  tossing  upon  his  own.  What  was 
any  world  now?  What  were  all  the  worlds? 
It  was  this,  this  that  he  had  been  waiting  for 
from  the  very  beginning  of  time — this  red 
mouth,  this  living  woman  and  her  love  for 
him. 

215 


THE  THINGS  THAT  AKE  CESAR'S 

With  a  laugh  of  strength  John  broke  the 
spell  of  the  night. 

"  I  thought,"  he  said,  "  those  tiresome 
people  would  never  give  me  this  chance  to 
tell  you." 

She  guessed  and  made  the  reply  he  most 
desired. 

"  So  did  I,"  she  confessed. 

"And  then,"  he  continued,  kissing  her 
with  every  word,  "  I  was  afraid  when  the 
chance  did  come." 

"  Was  I  so  very  terrible? " 

"  An  ogress."  And  he  kissed  her  again 
just  to  prove  it.  "  I  think,"  he  continued,  "  I 
have  never  been  so  afraid  of  you  before." 

"  Not  that  first  night  when  you  came,  you 
know,  for  the  picture  f  " 

"  Then  least  of  all.  I — I  loved  you  from 
that  instant.  I  wonder  if  you  could  know 
what  you  were  to  me  then?  " 

She  could  not,  but,  woman-like,  she 
wanted  to. 

"  More  than  now?  "  she  pouted. 

"No,"    he    began,    "not    just    at    that 

time " 

216 


A  DECLARATION  OF  DEPENDENCE 

For  one  tremendous  instant  he  hesitated, 
no  longer.  At  times  such  as  these  it  was  not 
yet  in  him,  once  well  under  way,  long  to 
pause.  Why  should  he  trouble  her  with  a 
thing  that,  according  to  either  his  old  or  new 
standard,  it  was  best  she  should  never  knowT 
He  knew  that,  with  Gwynne's  letter  in  his 
pocket,  there  was  not  one  chance  in  a  thou- 
sand of  her  ever  learning  the  truth.  Not 
that  it  would  matter  if  she  did.  He  was 
sure,  as  her  warm  hand  touched  his  own, 
that  she  loved  him  too  well  for  that.  But 
there  was  no  good  reason  why  he  should 
ever  inflict  her  with  the  knowledge,  least 
of  all  why  he  should  inflict  her  now.  There 
was  truth,  of  course,  and  truth—  Well, 
he  would  tell  her,  but  upon  a  future  occa- 
sion. 

"  But  just  at  that  time,"  he  went  on — and 
Phyllis  was  far  too  rapt  to  attach  impor- 
tance to  the  pause — "  I  had  been  very  much 
alone  in  the  world  for  a  long  while.  I  was 
always  very  much  alone,  for  that  matter. 
And  then  I  had  come  into  a  new  city,  a 
strange  one.  I  hardly  knew  a  soul.  I  didn't 
15  217 


THE  THINGS  THAT  ARE  CESAR'S 

understand  my  work;  it  was  very  different 
from  what  I'd  expected,  and  I  was — well,  I 
was  lonesome." 

She  pressed  his  hand  and  began  to  ask 
him  a  thousand  questions,  some  few  of  his 
past  life,  but  most  of  his  present  heart,  and 
all  of  these  he  managed  to  answer  with  truth 
and  to  her  satisfaction.  Together  then  they 
traversed,  incident  by  incident,  their  meet- 
ing, their  words  and  thoughts  on  this  occa- 
sion or  on  that,  up  to  the  present  momentous 
evening. 

"And  when  those  people,"  said  John — 
they  both  were  pitying  the  unloved  rest  of 
the  world — "when  those  people  did  leave  I 
couldn't  bring  myself  to  tell  you — in  there 
where  they'd  been;  they'd  left  too  much  of 
themselves  about  the  place." 

Phyllis  laughed  reminiscently. 

"Was  that,"  she  asked,  "why  you 
jumped  so  at  my  suggestion  of  the  gar- 
den?" 

"  Was  that,"  responded  John,  "  why  you 
made  it?" 

"  I  shall  never  tell  you,"  she  declared. 
218 


But,  even  in  the  starlight,  he  could  see  her 
blush. 

"  At  any  rate,"  he  persisted,  "  you  almost 
overdid  it,  for  when  we  got  out  here,  so  aw- 
fully alone,  you — you  somehow  looked  so  un- 
earthly that  I  was  more  afraid  than  ever.  I 
never  saw  you  as  beautiful — I  never  did,  and 
you  are  beautiful,  you  know  you  are.  Body 
and  soul  you  are  the  most  beautiful  woman 
in  the  world." 

He  believed  it,  and  from  weak  pretestings 
she  shrunk  to  silence,  and  listened  with  head 
thrown  back  and  half-closed  eyes  to  all  his 
song  of  her.  But  at  its  close  she  trembled 
for  them  both.  Haig  thought  that  she  was 
cold,  and  she  knew  that  it  would  be  useless 
to  attempt  to  undeceive  him,  and  so  fol- 
lowed him  silently  back  into  the  softly  lighted 
room. 

Once  inside  between  the  familiar  book- 
shelves and  seated  near  the  great  study- 
table  heaped  with  magazines,  the  conven- 
tional again  resumed  over  both  something  of 
its  sway. 

"  Do  you  know,  sir,"  she  asked,  "  that  you 
219 


THE  THINGS  THAT  ARE  CESAR'S 

have  omitted  one  unimportant  detail  of  your 
love-making ! " 

"  No  doubt.  I'm  glad  it's  not  more.  You 
see,  I'm  new  at  it." 

"  Thank  you,  so  am  I." 

"  Oh,  I  didn't  mean  that !  "  He  kissed  her 
hand  across  the  table. 

"  Now  tell  me,"  he  added,  "  what  have  I 
overlooked? " 

"  You  have  overlooked  asking  me." 

"  Then  I'll  say  it  now:— Please?  " 

"  Well,  you  sha'n't  go  without  your  pun- 
ishment. I  say  yes — wait  a  bit ! — with  a  con- 
dition." 

"  YouVe  only  to  name  it." 

"  That  we're  not  to  let  this  be  known  until 
next  season." 

"  A  whole  year ! " 

"Just  that  and  not  a  soul.  Don't  be 
cross.  Oh,  John !  " — she  bent  forward  for 
his  kiss — "you  know  the  waiting  is  just  as 
hard  for  me.  But  we  must.  You  under- 
stand. Why  won't  you  understand?  I'm — 
why,  I'm  just  '  out.'  " 

"You've  been  out  long  enough  for  me," 
220 


A  DECLARATION  OF  DEPENDENCE 

protested  John.  He  was  all  of  a  man  now. 
"  I  don't  see  why  you  should  want  to  go  about 
with " 

Phyllis  stopped  him  promptly. 

"  And  don't  be  a  goose,"  she  added.  "  It's 
not  expected,  this  sort  of  thing,  just  at  once 
— that's  all.  It's — it's  not  done,  you  know." 

The  words  were  vague,  but  the  tone  told. 
John  understood  her  at  last.  He  even  appre- 
ciated. The  world,  he  tried  hard  to  convince 
himself,  was  already  playing  its  part  not 
only  in  his  views,  but  in  his  emotions  as  well. 

They  talked  it  all  over,  of  course,  but  he 
agreed  easily.  After  all,  he  reflected,  she 
was  right  according  to  the  standard  of  youth. 
She  had  before  her  the  happiest  season  of  a 
young  girl's  life,  and  she  had  the  clearest 
right  to  make  the  most  of  it.  Besides,  as  a 
man,  he  wanted  to  see  her  brilliant,  success- 
ful, desired.  He  wanted,  though  he  did  not 
guess  it,  to  be  able  to  watch  her  admired  and 
courted  by  Payne  and  the  other  young  men 
of  her  set,  and  yet  to  be  able  to  say  to  him- 
self that  she  was  his.  In  that  time  of  waiting 
he  would  see  scarcely  less  of  her,  and  he 
221 


THE  THINGS  THAT  ARE  CESAR'S 

knew  how  enchanted  would  seem  their  stolen 
moments  alone. 

"  And  now,"  she  at  last  concluded,  "  we've 
begun  badly.  What's  happened  to  mother 
I  can't  imagine,  but  you  should  have  been 
gone,  Mr.  Haig,  long  ago." 

"  God  bless  Mrs.  Gwynne,"  said  John. 

"  Amen,"  said  Phyllis. 

"  And,"  added  Haig,  "  God  bless  our  se- 
cret, too." 

She  nestled  against  him  and  raised  her 
lips  to  his. 

"  It  will  be  all  the  sweeter,  dear,"  she  as- 
sured him,  "  because  it  is  a  secret  and  be- 
cause it  is  ours." 


222 


XVII 

A   DECLARATION   OF   INDEPENDENCE 

"  THE  bishop  would  like  to  see  you  in  his 
study,  sir." 

Thomas,  the  demure,  made  this  statement 
with  his  accustomed  placidity. 

John  turned  from  his  dressing-table,  his 
fingers  still  busily  engaged  with  a  refractory 
collar. 

"All  right,"  he  replied  as  the  man  re- 
treated. "  Tell  him  I'll  be  down  just  as  soon 
as  I  get  into  my  clothes." 

The  first  two  delicious  weeks  had  passed, 
and  he  was  standing  amid  a  heap  of  dis- 
carded shirts  and  convicted  ties,  dressing  be- 
fore keeping  an  engagement  with  Phyllis.  In 
the  interval  everything  had  gone  well.  He 
had  seen  just  enough  of  her,  of  course,  to 
want  more.  He  had  been  walking  with  the 
gods.  His  mind,  engrossed  only  with  the 
223 


THE  THINGS  THAT  ARE  CESAR'S 

splendid  successes  of  his  heart,  had  passed 
from  its  attitude  of  acceptance  of  the  world's 
standards  to  a  perfect  forgetfulness  of  both 
the  world  and  its  opinions.  He  had  no 
thought  except  for  Phyllis. 

And  yet  love  had  brought  him  back.  With 
his  brain  whirling  to  the  tune  of  her  latest 
words,  his  fingers  must  have  regained  some- 
thing of  their  old  cunning.  A  week  before 
the  cashier  had  come  to  him  to  talk  of  an 
advancement  in  place  and  salary  of  a  sort 
which  made  him  well  content  to  bear  his  year 
of  waiting  for  Phyllis  before  making  appli- 
cation to  Gwynne.  The  prospect  was  good, 
so  good  that  it  cast  a  still  deeper  shadow  over 
all  that  was  behind  him,  and  though  he  still 
had  an  occasional  dread  of  his  past  in  its  rela- 
tion to  his  sweetheart,  he  managed  easily  to 
postpone  its  consideration  with  the  unan- 
swerable argument  that  Phyllis  would  the 
more  readily  understand  his  position  when, 
at  the  end  of  her  provisional  year,  he  could 
show  her,  together  with  his  sin,  the  sincerity 
of  his  repentance  and  the  work  that  it  had 
wrought  through  his  business  prosperity. 
224 


A  DECLARATION  OF  INDEPENDENCE 

So  completely  was  he  wrapped  in  his  prevail- 
ing mood  that  he  was  able  to  meet  his  uncle 
with  frank  cheerfulness  to  the  end  that  the 
bishop  was  enough  relieved  heretofore  to 
adopt  a  similar  pose.  Not  that  the  good  for- 
tune had  stopped  short  at  Haig  himself.  Far 
from  that,  it  seemed  that  for  his  very  friends 
it  had  proved  to  be  contagious,  and  only  on 
the  yesterday  Newton  had  ventured  to  ap- 
pear at  the  bank,  a  most  respectable,  almost 
clerical  figure,  with  the  information  that  he 
had  so  well  pleased  his  rector  as  to  be  re- 
luctantly handed  over  for  sexton  to  a  larger 
church  in  one  of  the  best  sections  of  the  city. 
It  was  thus  small  wonder  that  John  now  felt 
at  liberty  to  enter  his  uncle's  study  whistling 
an  air  reminiscent  of  his  lately  and  splendid- 
ly renewed  acquaintance  with  the  theatre. 

No  sooner,  however,  was  he  inside  than 
the  tune  died  away  on  his  lips. 

The  bishop  met  him  at  the  door  and  shut 
and  locked  it  behind  him.  The  early  dark- 
ness had  fallen,  and  the  green-shaded  drop- 
lamp  on  the  broad  writing-table  provided  the 
only  light. 

225 


THE  THINGS  THAT  AEE  CAESAR'S 

"  Sit  down,"  said  the  bishop,  and  it  was 
then  that  John's  negro  melody  ended  in  the 
middle  of  a  bar. 

With  drooping  jaw,  he  meekly  obeyed  the 
order — for  order  it  unmistakably  was — and 
collapsed  expectantly  into  an  easy  chair  at 
one  side  of  the  table. 

The  bishop  drew  up  his  arm-chair  oppo- 
site and  made  a  feint  of  searching  among  the 
pages  of  an  unfinished  sermon.  John  greed- 
ily noted  that  his  white  hands  trembled  until 
the  episcopal  ring  cast  queer  rays  upon  the 
fluttering  manuscript.  He  saw  also  that  the 
once  mild  eyes  were  sparkling  with  excite- 
ment, that  the  mouth  was  twitching  the  whole 
patriarchal  beard,  and  that  the  entire  face 
must  have  altered  with  his  own  point  of  view 
during  the  last  several  weeks. 

For  Haig  the  start  was  sudden. 

"  I'm  sorry,"  he  said  weakly,  "  to  have 
kept  you  waiting,  sir." 

Immediately  the  bishop  found  the  letter. 

Clearly  he  had  been  pausing  for  a  cue  of 

whatever  sort.    One  hand  pushed  away  the 

papers  from  the  red  baize  of  the  table-top, 

226 


A  DECLARATION  OF  INDEPENDENCE 

the  other  held  aloft  a  note  which  John,  at 
once  upon  the  defensive,  saw  was  written  in 
a  hund  that  was  strange  to  him. 

"  If  that,  sir,  was  all  that  you  had  to  be 
sorry  for,"  the  bishop  declared,  "we  might 
cry  quits  at  once." 

"I  didn't  know  I'd  offended  you  in  any 
other  way.  I'm  sorry  if " 

"  Sorry,  sorry  I  You're  actually  using  the 
word  before  you  know  what  you've  done! 
And  I  really  believe "  —Bishop  Osgood 
brought  it  out  with  a  veritable  gasp — "  that 
you  don't  know !  " 

"  I  am  quite  at  a  loss." 

"Well,  upon  my  word,  upon  my  word, 
sir!  You've  insulted  my  cloth;  you've  de- 
ceived me ;  you've  attacked  the  very  church ; 
you've  brought  scandal  upon  one  of  my  most 
excellent  ministers;  you've  placed  me — not 
to  mention  yourself — in  the  most  equivocal 
of  positions;  you've  caused  me  no  end  of 
trouble,  and  now  you  sit  there  in  unruffled 
evening  clothes,  and  you  tell  me  that  you 
don't  know  what  you've  done!  I  don't  be- 
lieve it." 

227 


THE  THINGS  THAT  AEE  CESAR'S 

John  caught  the  contradiction,  but  he  had 
been  too  much  weakened  by  his  changed  life, 
and  was  too  startled  by  the  suddenness  of  all 
that  the  bishop  had  said  and  the  way  in 
which  he  had  said  it,  to  indulge  in  any  nice 
quibbling.  The  avalanche  of  accusation 
swept  him  completely  away,  and,  as  he  rolled 
over  with  it,  he  could  only  ejaculate: 

"I  tell  you  I  can't  imagine  what  I've 
done." 

"Am  I  not  telling  you?"  thundered  the 
clergyman — he  was  always  the  better  preach- 
er the  more  he  was  moved.  "  I'm  trying  to 
give  you  the  whole  catalogue  of  your  offences 
if  you'll  only  allow  me." 

John  had  not  the  least  desire  to  interrupt. 
He  now  waved  a  faint  hand  of  acquiescence. 

"  I  got  this  letter  this  morning,"  pursued 
the  bishop,  with  flaming  face  and  shaking 
voice.  "  You  were  out,  of  course,  and  I  at 
once  looked  up  the  writer.  It's  from  Dr. 
Morton,  of  St.  Elizabeth's,  one  of  our  best 
men,  in  one  of  our  most  respectable  parishes. 
Well,  I  only  got  back  a  half-hour  ago." 

The  name  of  the  church  awakened  a  mem- 
228 


A  DECLARATION  OF  INDEPENDENCE 

ory  in  John,  and,  as  his  uncle  continued,  he 
began  vaguely  and  doubtfully  to  understand. 

"  Some  time  ago  you  brought  a — a  person 
into  this  house — into  my  house — and  gave 
me  your  word  that  he  was  a  deserving  man. 
I  got  him  a  place  on  the  strength  of  what  you 
said.  Of  course,  it  never  occurred  to  me  to 
doubt  your  word,  and  so  I  gave  mine  for  him. 
He  was  transferred  only  yesterday  to  St. 
Elizabeth's,  and  now  it  turns  out  that  he's  a 
thief!" 

The  concluding  word  brought  John  up 
with  a  jump.  His  first  sensation  was  one  of 
pain  to  learn  that  Newton's  repentance  had 
been  either  so  feigned  or  so  weak;  his  next 
and  more  natural  was  of  hurt  and  indigna- 
tion at  the  insult  dealt  his  friendship;  but 
the  last  and  enduring  was  contrition  that  he 
should  have  been  so  ready  to  accept  the  man 
as  another  of  his  own  kind,  and  that,  ever 
since,  he  had  been  so  wrapped  up  in  his  own 
happiness  as  not  to  have  kept  track  of  the  fel- 
low and  so  saved  the  bishop  from  this  annoy- 
ing contretemps. 

"I'm  awfully  shocked  to  hear  this,"  he 
229 


THE  THINGS  THAT  ARE  CESAR'S 

declared.  "  I'm  hurt,  too,  to  think  that  you 
could  suspect  me  of  recommending  a  crooked 
man;  but,  of  course,  uncle,  you're  excited, 
and  all  I  want  to  do  just  now  is  to  fix  the 
matter  up  for  you  and  shoulder  all  the  re- 
sponsibility myself." 

His  tone  was  so  frank,  so  sincere,  that  the 
bishop's  face  cleared  a  little  towards  sur- 
prise. 

"  Then  you  didn't  know?  "  he  asked. 

"  Why,  uncle !  But  there,  we'll  straighten 
that  out  later.  At  present  what  I  want  to 
say  is  this:  I'll  go  to  Dr.  What's-his-name 
and  tell  him  how  it  all  happened,  and,  as  I've 
a  little  money  put  by,  I  must  insist  on  being 
allowed  to  make  good  the  amount  Newton 
took.  I  suppose  it  couldn't  have  been  very 
much?" 

It  was  now  upon  the  bishop  that  there 
descended  the  shade  of  bewilderment. 

"  Very  much  I  "  he  repeated.  "  He  didn't 
take  anything." 

"  He Why,  didn't  you  say  he  was  a 

thief?" 

"  So  he  is.  One  of  the  vestrymen  who 
230 


A  DECLARATION  OF  INDEPENDENCE 

came  to  this  city  only  three  years  ago,  but 
who's  one  of  our  best-known  lawyers,  de- 
feuded  him  in  your  own  State  against  a 
charge  of  burglary  only  about  four  years 
ago,  and  lost  the  case." 

John's  eyes  opened  wide.  He  was  silent 
for  an  instant,  but  in  that  instant  something 
of  his  old  strength  was  vouchsafed  to  a  cour- 
age temporarily,  though  only  partially,  reha- 
bilitated by  the  recent  days  of  happiness. 
He  rose  to  his  feet,  his  own  voice  now  shak- 
ing with  indignation. 

But  the  thing  was  too  monstrous  at  once 
to  be  believed.  He  must  first  make  sure. 

"  And  so,"  he  asked,  "  you  call  Newton  a 
thief!  " 

The  bishop  was  too  blinded  with  the  pas- 
sion of  the  moment  to  catch  the  drift  of  this 
question. 

"  Well,  a  burglar,  then,"  he  replied.  "  It's 
worse,  if  you  come  to  that." 

"  My  God !  "  gasped  John. 

"How  dare  youf  "  cried  the  bishop,  and 
then     left     the     sublime     to     jerk     forth: 
"  Where're  you  going?  " 
231 


THE  THINGS  THAT  ARE  CAESAR'S 

"  Out  of  this  house,"  said  John.  "  I  don't 
belong  here,  and  I  don't  pretend  to  under- 
stand its  ways." 

"  What  do  you  mean?  " 

"  I  mean  that  what's  sauce  for  me's  sauce 
for  Newton  as  long  as  he's  square.  If  he's 
a  thief,  why,  what  am  I,  what's  your  nephew 
whom  you  recommended  everywhere1?  I 
ought  never  to  have  gone  to  jail  in  the  first 
place.  I  ought  never  to  have  accepted  your 
absurd  theories  afterward.  I  ought  never  to 
have  tried  to  get  back  among  men  once  I  had 
been  in  prison,  and  I  ought  never  to  have 
stayed  under  your  roof  a  minute  after  I  saw 
how  you  took  my  kissing  my  aunt.  The 
whole  thing's  been  a  farce,  a  contradiction  of 
nature.  You  had  me  go  to  jail  because  you 
said  it  was  my  duty  to  society,  and  once  I'd 
paid  the  debt  I'd  start  clean.  We  both  found 
we  were  wrong.  I  don't  blame  you  for  that 
except  that  you'd  had  more  experience  of  life 
than  I'd  had.  But  then  we  decide  that  it's 
all  right  if  a  man  means  well  and  keeps  his 
jail  life  dark.  On  that  theory  you  get  me  a 
place.  Oh,  I'm  obliged  to  you  for  that,  only 
232 


A  DECLARATION  OF  INDEPENDENCE 

I  don't  understand  your  point  of  view,  and 
so  I'm  going,  for  it  seems  that  when  I  try  the 
same  theory  on  you  it  doesn't  work." 

"  Then  you  did  know  this  about  New- 
ton!" 

"  Certainly." 

"And  you  recommended "  But  the 

bishop  stopped.  For  the  first  time  he  saw 
the  weakness  of  his  position.  Hurriedly  he 
shifted.  "  But,  my  dear  boy,"  he  continued, 
"  this  is  a  vastly  different  matter." 

"  I  don't  see  it,"  said  John. 

"  You  were  an  educated  man." 

"  And  you  got  me  a  position  in  a  business 
that  requires  some  education.  Newton  was 
an  uneducated  man,  and  I  got  him  a  job  that 
didn't  require  any  education.  No,  uncle,  if 
the  rule  holds  good  for  one  man  in  one  grade, 
it  holds  good  for  another  in  another." 

"But  you  could  have  been  more  frank 
with  me.  You  forget  my  relationship  and 
my  views." 

"  As  for  the  relationship,  the  secret  wasn't 
mine;  and  as  for  your  views,  your  present 
attitude  shows  that  I  was  justified  in  keeping 
16  233 


THE  THINGS  THAT  ARE  CESAR'S 

silence.  However,  I  admit  that  then  I  was 
quiet  only  because  the  secret  wasn't  mine. 
I  thought,  then,  that  your  views  coincided 
with  those  you  yourself  had  put  into  my 
head." 

"But  the  position  was  out  of  the  ordi- 
nary." 

"  So's  a  position  in  a  bank — for  a  man 
with  my  record." 

"  Still,  I  think  you  might  have  told  me." 

"  So  might  you  have  told  Parton.  But 
you  had  tried  that  with  Fealy — or  with 
Gwynne — and  you  saw  it  wouldn't  work." 

"  Tut,  tut !  Besides,  if  Dr.  Morton  had 
known  he  might  have  warned  his  people.  It 
would  then  have  been  only  a  proper  church 
charity." 

"It  would  have  been  a  brutal  exhibi- 
tion." 

"Nonsense!  The  Church,  you  know 

There's  the  whole  point.  We  can't  have  re- 
flections cast  upon  the  Church.  That  is  dif- 
ferent, I  tell  you,  from  regular  business." 

But  John  was  one  of  those  men,  generally 
of  few  words,  who  know  no  limits  of  speech 
234 


A  DECLARATION  OF  INDEPENDENCE 

when  once  they  have  given  way  to  their 
thoughts.    He  blazed  again. 

"  I'm  tired  of  that,  sir  1 "  he  broke  out. 
"I'm  sick  and  tired  of  that!  What's  the 
Church  worth  if  it's  got  to  hide  behind  that! 
I'm  losing  faith  in  it  for  one.  What's  re- 
ligion for,  anyhow,  if  it  can't  help  us  here! 
I've  seen  it  fail  twice  in  my  own  case  and 
work  just  once — and  that  was  as  far  out  of 
the  world  as  you  can  get  without  being  dead 
— in  a  jail."  He  reaped  the  whirlwind  as  he 
spoke,  and  rose  from  doubt  to  certain  antag- 
onism. "  And  yet,"  he  went  on,  "  you  set  it 
up  as  a  practical  guide  for  living,  and  then 
when  it  fails  you'd  tell  me  that  its  business 
is  not  with  this  life,  but  the  next.  Either 
your  precious  Caesar  is  right  or  he's  wrong. 
There's  no  half  way.  Either  my  crime  de- 
served ten  years,  or  more,  or  less.  I  was 
willing  to  serve  fifty  if  the  law  said  so,  but 
it  said  only  ten,  and  I  serve  that  and  come 
out — to  this !  It's  not  that  I've  been  crooked ; 
it's  not  that  I've  been  caught ;  it's  just  simply 
that  I've  done  what  Society's  told  me  to  do 
— gone  to  jail.  And  your  Church  backs  it  all 
235 


THE  THINGS  THAT  AEE  C^ESAE'S 

up  with  its  mouthing  about  Caesar  getting 
his  due.  Where  does  our  due  come  in? 
That's  what  I  want  to  know.  Or  don't  we 
have  any '?  Does  the  modern  discovery  of  the 
individuality  amount  to  anything  or  doesn't 
it  f  Haven't  we  any  rights  as  human  beings  ? 
Haven't  we  any  claim  on  justice  or  the  State ! 
Or  do  you  go  back  to  the  dark  ages  and  say 
that  we  lose  all  that  through  crime!  " 

The  bishop  managed  to  get  in  two  words : 

"  You're  mad !  "  he  shouted. 

"  No  doubt,"  retorted  John.  "  They  call 
this  a  sane  world,  but  I  tell  you  it's  all  mad, 
mad,  mad!  It's  lived  so  long  and  so  long 
breathed  and  had  its  being  in  an  atmosphere 
of  madness  that  it  couldn't  bear  the  atmos- 
phere of  truth.  The  distorted  forces  of  na- 
ture must  have  worked  up  through  the  soil 
into  our  bodies  until  we're  a  race  of  gibber- 
ing lunatics  who  delight  in  nothing  but  cruel- 
ty. It  seems  to  be  the  one  law  of  action  and 
principle  of  justice;  it's  the  breath  in  the 
nostrils.  Blood — that's  all  people  want,  and 
because  they  haven't  got  the  courage  of  their 
own  lust,  because  they're  afraid  of  the  red 
236 


A  DECLARATION  OF  INDEPENDENCE 

blood  of  the  body,  they've  got  to  content 
themselves  with  the  blood  of  the  soul. 
Faugh,  it  stinks  to  heaven!  Oh,"  he  went 
on,  for  the  bishop  had  also  sprung  to  his  feet, 
and  was  making  a  violent  but  vain  endeavour 
to  interrupt,  "  oh,  I'm  not  done,  and  I  will 
finish,  too  I  I'm  going  once  and  for  all  to  tell 
you  what  I  think  of  the  whole  affair.  I'm 
sick,  I  say,  of  all  the  rot  about  the  Church 
and  society.  How  can  people  talk  about  a 
debt  to  society!  Society  1  What,  in  Heav- 
en's name,  has  society  ever  done  for  me? 
It's  tricked  me  and  betrayed  me,  first  and 
last.  It  sets  up  a  false  standard  of  value 
and  then  cheats  at  the  weights.  It's  a  farce, 
a  mask,  a  whited  sepulchre,  an  arbitrary  law 
of  the  powerful  for  the  protection  of  the  pow- 
erful in  wrong.  All  men  are  liars;  all  men 
thieves.  The  strong  fight  the  weak  and  the 
strong  win,  but  the  distinction's  only  a  dis- 
tinction of  strength.  Force,  timid  and  cun- 
ning, has  surrounded  itself  with  a  maze  of 
formulae,  set  up  watchers,  sent  out  its  spies 
in  the  garments  of  holiness.  It'll  call  one 
the  Church  and  the  other  the  law.  It's  or- 
237 


THE  THINGS  THAT  AEE  CAESAR'S 

dained  customs  and  promulgated  codes  and 
statutes,  and  the  whole  form  of  these  it  calls 
Society.  But  back  of  it  all  there  is  just  one 
thing:  force  working  by  means  of  cunning. 
Well,  I've  torn  off  the  masks  to  my  own  sat- 
isfaction, and  I've  found  the  law  a  tyrant  and 
the  Church  a  hypocrite.  The  Church! — I'm 
done  with  it !  " 

Had  the  bishop  been  on  the  debating-plat- 
f  orm  he  would  have  been  prompt  to  move  the 
previous  question,  or  equally  prompt  to  point 
out  that  the  fallacy  of  all  this  raving  was 
pathetically  obvious,  because  John  was  rea- 
soning from  a  single  instance  to  a  general 
rule.  But  as  Haig  was  the  inevitable  result 
of  an  individual  will  at  war  with  a  universal 
law,  the  necessary  scape-goat  turning  to- 
wards the  burning  sands,  so,  too,  was  his  uncle 
the  creature  of  an  environment  and  the  con- 
sequence of  an  accumulated  race-experience. 
Each  the  product  of  the  same  rule,  each  was 
absolutely  right  and  utterly  blameless,  but 
neither  could  see  that  the  other  was  living  and 
acting  in  the  one  way  logical  for  him  to  live 
and  act,  and  the  clergyman  could  realize  only 
238 


A  DECLARATION  OF  INDEPENDENCE 

that  he  was  in  his  own  house  instead  of  a  hall 
of  debate,  and  that  he  had  there  been  forced 
to  listen,  from  his  own  nephew,  to  an  attack 
upon  his  own  faith.  He  spluttered  a  moment 
with  indignation  and  surprise,  and  then 
cried : 

"  I  think  you  had  better  go  1  For  my  part, 
I  shall  not  listen  a  moment  longer  to  such 
blasphemy ! " 

But  there  was  to  be  no  opportunity. 
Even  to  the  last  the  bishop  was  destined  not 
to  get  in  his  word.  John  had  already  un- 
locked, opened,  and  passed  out  of  the  door. 


239 


XVIII 

EXIT  A  BANK  CLERK 

HAIG  strode  to  his  room,  thrust  a  few 
clothes  and  all  of  his  money  into  a  suit-case, 
wrote  a  note  to  Phyllis,  rang  for  a  messen- 
ger, and  then  made  straight  for  Newton's 
last  address. 

He  found  the  man  under  the  roof  of  a 
bourgeois  boarding-house,  a  small,  sad-col- 
oured room  with  pale  paper  on  the  walls,  and 
an  ill-smelling  lamp  in  a  gaudy  shade.  New- 
ton, strong,  and  almost  rosy  again,  stood  in 
the  midst  of  a  heap  of  clothes  before  an  open 
trunk.  As  John  entered  he  turned  with  his 
arms  full  of  stray  garments,  a  sullen  anger 
blazing  in  his  eyes. 

It  pleased  John  to  be  categorical. 

"  What  are  you  at  I  "  he  asked. 

"  I'm  done  with  it,"  muttered  Newton. 

"  You  mean  you're  going  to  cut  it  out  1 " 
240 


EXIT  A  BANK  CLERK 

"  Yes,  sir  I  I'm  goin'  to  cut  them  all  out, 
the  whole  thundering  hypocritical  gang  of 
them." 

"And  run  awayf  My  uncle's  just  told 
me  all  about  it,  you  know." 

"  Oh,  I'd  'a'  guessed  that,  all  right.  Trust 
one  o'  them  to  gab  I  That's  what  started  the 
whole  rumpus.  Yes,  I'm  goin'  to  leave  the 
town." 

"  No,  you're  not,"  said  John.  "  Sit  down." 

Newton  perched  upon  the  edge  of  the 
metal-covered  trunk,  the  clothes  falling  to 
the  rag-carpeted  floor.  John  sat  on  the  bed. 

"Now  don't  be  such  a  fool,  Newton," 
he  said.  "  Look  here,  I'll  tell  you  what  hap- 
pened to  me,  and  then  you  can  judge  for 
yourself  what  you  ought  to  do.  I  came  to 
this  place  and  my  uncle  got  me  a  job  on  a 
paper.  He'd  told  a  fellow  all  about  me,  and 
that  finally  got  me  fired.  Then  he  was  sorry 
and  fixed  me  up  in  the  bank — this  time  with- 
out telling  them.  Well,  I  had  a  fight  with 
him  just  now  when  I  found  out  that  he  wasn't 
willing  to  treat  you  in  the  same  way.  So  I've 
left  there — going  to  send  for  the  rest  of  my 
241 


THE  THINGS  THAT  AEE  CESAR'S 

things  to-morrow.  But  I  won't  leave  this 
town.  I  won't  say  I'm  licked.  I  didn't  when 
I  lost  my  first  job,  and  I  don't  see  why  you 
should." 

Newton,  however,  was  defiant. 

"  Oh,"  he  began,  "  what  in  thunder's  the 
use?  These  black  parsons  will  pat  you  on 
the  back  when  you're  jailed  because  that's 
their  business,  but  once  you're  out  they  won't 
touch  you — they  won't  look  at  you  the  minute 
they're  on.  I'm  sick  of  'em,  I  tell  you,  the 
whole  mob.  I'm  known  here  now,  but  I'll 
have  a  little  chance  some'eres  else,  an'  I'm 
goin'  there.  What's  the  odds?  They  can't 
do  no  more  'an  send  me  up  again." 

"  You  don't  mean  that  you're  going  back 
to  the  old  line — to  grafting  again? " 

There  are  distinctions  in  the  ancient  pro- 
fession. Newton  turned  up  his  nose  at  the 
term  which  John  had  been  at  such  pains  to 
use. 

"Grafting?"  he  said  contemptuously. 
"  What  do  you  think  I  am,  anyhow?  A  reg'- 
lar  gun?  No,  sir,  my  line's  gopher-work." 

"What's  that?" 

242 


EXIT  A  BANK  CLERK 

"  Crackin'  peters — bustin'  safes." 

John  smiled  in  spite  of  himself. 

"But  you're  not  going  to  take  that  up 
again,  are  you!  "  he  asked. 

"  Why,  cert'n'y.  I  got  to  live,  I  guess, 
just  as  much  as  them  gospel-preachers.  An* 
I  don't  consider  I  owe  a  single  one  o'  th'  jays 
a  single  thing.  There's  nothin'  too  rotten 
for  me  to  do  to  them  and,  by  God,  I'll  be 
square  with  the  whole  shootin'-match  before 
I  get  through  with  it — you  can  just  bet  your 
sweet  life  on  that." 

John  was  speedily  regaining  his  former 
mood.  He  laughed. 

"  Stuff!  "  he  said.  "  You've  got  it  in  for 
one  man — or  only  two  or  three  at  most — 
and  so  you  want  to  take  it  out  of  the  whole 
class."  It  was  so  easy  for  him  then  to  be 
logical !  "  But,  anyhow,"  he  continued,  "  how 
do  you  think  you  can  do  it?  You  can't,  you 
know,  and  that's  flat.  You  told  me  yourself 
that  you'd  like  as  not  be  recognised  any- 
where, and  that  your  record  was  against  you. 
Why,  Newton,  you've  got  to  be  straight 
whether  you  want  to  be  or  not ! " 
243 


THE  THINGS  THAT  AEE  CESAR'S 

"  Oh,  it's  easy  enough  to  talk ! "  protested 
Newton. 

"  Well,  it'll  be  harder  for  you  to  do  any- 
thing but  what  I  tell  you  to.  Isn't  that 
right?" 

"  There'd  be  heavy  chances,  but  I've  got 
to  live,  I  say." 

"  Sure  you  do,  but  so  do  I,  and  I'm  doing 
it.  Look  here.  Not  so  many  people  are  on 
to  you  in  this  town — not  as  many  as  are  on 
to  me.  I'll  see  that  you  get  a  job  some- 
where or  other  and  sooner  or  later.  In 
the  meantime,  you  bunk  with  me.  Will  you 
doit?" 

He  would  have  put  out  his  hand  only  that 
he  had  a  genuine  horror  of  appearing  senti- 
mental among  men.  But  Newton  understood. 
He  looked  up  at  Haig  with  a  light  in  his  face 
that  the  latter  had  never  seen  there  before, 
a  glimmer  which  Newton  strove  at  once  to 
hide  by  a  half -return  to  his  earlier  tone. 

"Yes,  I  will,"  he  almost  savagely  as- 
sented. "  But  I  want  you  to  understand.  It's 
this  way:  I'm  out  of  the  thing  because  I'm 
afraid  to  go  back  to  it  just  now,  and  that's 
244 


EXIT  A  BANK  CLERK 

the  only  reason.  I'll  be  straight  enough,  I 
guess,  but  I  tell  you  right  now  it's  not  be- 
cause I've  any  use  for  these  black  gospel- 
sharks.  Sect" 

John  looked  at  him  and  smiled  again.  He 
was  anxious  to  welcome  any  glow  of  real 
courage  in  the  fellow,  however  perverted. 

"  That's  all  right,"  he  said.  His  own 
mood,  never  deeply  religious,  though  once 
highly  if  falsely  ethical,  was  ready  to  join, 
in  a  measure,  such  a  revolt,  and  he  then  and 
there  quietly  dismissed  the  question  of  re- 
ligion from  his  thoughts  forever.  The  mo- 
ments of  ultimate  acceptance  or  rejection  in 
matters  of  faith  generally  come  to  us  all  in 
so  subtle  a  form  that  we  are  only  semi-con- 
scious of  their  presence  and  almost  ignorant 
of  their  result.  "  I'm  not  much  on  that  game 
myself,"  John  admitted.  "  But,  as  you  say, 
we've  got  to  live,  and  it  seems  to  be  the  right 
thing  to  live  square.  Now,  I  need  a  place  to 
sleep  in  as  much  as  you  do.  However,  I'm 
afraid  it  will  have  to  be  more  up-town  than 
this  for  me.  Get  those  things  into  your  trunk 
and  come  help  look." 

245 


THE  THINGS  THAT  ARE  CAESAR'S 

Newton  complied  readily  enough  at  last, 
and  after  some  search  in  the  better  portion 
of  the  town  they  secured  an  abiding-place  in 
the  house  of  a  tall,  raw-boned  woman  with  a 
red  face,  a  beak  nose,  and  glistening  eye- 
glasses, who  assured  them  that  she  and  her 
husband,  Mr.  Ebbit,  took  only  a  few  lodgers, 
and  that  but  because  they  had  only  one  child 
and  could  not  use  the  whole  house. 

In  the  midst  of  her  tale  about  her  an- 
cestry and  social  connections  Haig  finally 
got  her  out  of  the  way,  and  found  the  place 
to  his  satisfaction:  two  rooms,  opening  the 
one  from  the  other,  outrageously  furnished, 
to  be  sure,  and  hung  with  framed  prints  that 
had  first  appeared  as  supplements  to  some 
Sunday  newspaper,  but  bright,  airy,  and 
with  possibilities  for  comfort. 

In  these  rooms  the  pair  managed  to  live 
for  several  days.  John  attended  as  usual  to 
his  duties  at  the  bank,  saw  Phyllis  whenever 
he  was  able,  and  was,  all  in  all,  rather 
pleased  with  his  present  situation.  He  tried, 
but  with  little  success,  to  find  some  sort  of 
work  for  Newton,  and  the  latter  spent  his 
246 


days  in  answering  want  advertisements  and 
his  nights  in  reading  the  papers.  The  man 
was  rough  and  taciturn,  but  cleanly,  and,  in 
his  stiff  way,  sincerely  grateful. 

Haig  had,  indeed,  cause  for  happiness. 
He  was  in  love  with  a  beautiful  girl  who 
loved  him  in  return,  and  he  was  seeing  just 
enough  of  her.  He  passed  through  all  the 
stages  common  to  his  disease  save  those  of 
doubt  and  jealousy.  He  never  mistrusted 
her  affection,  never  thought  but  that  he  was 
as  much  to  her  as  she  to  him. 

And  to  him  she  was  everything.  The 
parting  kisses  of  her  clinging  lips  were  with 
him  as  warm  as  at  the  moment  of  their  giv- 
ing, until  their  memory  was  erased  by  the 
renewing  of  the  actual  caress.  Each  meet- 
ing was  dearer  than  the  last.  To  him  they 
two  seemed  together  to  be  travelling  continu- 
ously towards  an  ultimate  and  ideal  unity 
whereof  each  stage  appeared  as  the  goal, 
only  to  give  place  to  the  surprise  of  a  yet 
more  convincing  succession. 

He  had  known,  practically,  no  other  wom- 
an. To  him  Phyllis  Gwynne  was  not  only 
247 


a  woman:  she  was  woman,  the  first  and  the 
last,  the  alpha  and  omega  of  emotion.  He 
had  been  so  lonely  when  he  met  her,  he  was 
— little  as  he  questioned  it — so  even  more 
than  lonely  now.  His  whole  nature  was  a 
tarnished  flower  full  open,  reaching  impo- 
tently,  but  not  vainly,  upward  for  the  dew. 
He  wanted,  he  yearned  for,  what  all  men 
want  and  yearn  for,  and  what  only  the  happy 
few  are  destined  ever  to  obtain — the  Woman 
.Who  Understands.  He  had  found  her,  he 
was  sure,  the  fated  one  in  all  the  stretch  of 
time,  so  perfectly  that  only  one,  that  crass 
words  were  needless,  were  indeed  now  mal- 
apropos in  the  search  for  a  definition,  and 
would  soon  be  in  the  nature  of  an  insult  to 
the  foreordained  event.  Thus  it  was  that, 
when  the  rare  occasion  arose,  he  convinced 
himself  that  he  need  be  in  no  haste  to  tell 
her  of  himself  and  his  past.  He  went  to  her 
again  and  again  with  the  words  upon  his 
lips,  and  when,  as  always,  they  faltered  and 
were  dumb,  he  soothed  his  soul  with  the  as- 
surance that  she  knew  and  loved  him,  and 
that  this  was  enough,  since  love  was  a  spirit- 
248 


EXIT  A  BANK  CLERK 

ual  thing  beyond  the  necessity  of  the  ma- 
terial agency  of  articulation. 

He  was  thrilling  with  the  tender  memory 
of  his  latest  parting  and  the  consequent 
promise  of  a  speedy  meeting  for  the  tardy 
night  when,  on  a  particular  morning  some 
days  later,  he  chanced,  on  looking  up  from 
his  now  speeding  work  at  the  bank,  to  no- 
tice a  stranger  whom  Mr.  Drake,  the  cash- 
ier, was  apparently  showing  through  the 
place. 

The  guest  was  a  short,  wiry,  fox-faced 
little  man,  with  dark  skin,  quiet  clothes,  and 
a  quick,  sharp  glance  that  caught  Haig's  and 
flashed,  it  seemed,  into  instant  recognition. 
He  tossed  a  word  to  his  guide,  and  made  at 
once  for  John's  desk  with  outstretched  hand 
and  a  smile  which  the  clerk,  feeling  sure  that 
he  had  never  before  seen  the  fellow,  instinc- 
tively mistrusted. 

"  How  d'  'e  dot  "  chirruped  the  stranger. 

John  had  removed  his  shade,  and  as  he 

looked  up  the  light  from  the  desk-lamp  fell 

full  upon  his  face.    He  saw  that  the  person 

who  addressed  him  was  studying  him  keenly, 

17  249 


THE  THINGS  THAT  ARE  CAESAR'S 

and,  he  never  knew  why,  he  kept  his  pen  in 
his  hand. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon  ?  "  he  asked. 

The  fox-faced  man  never  removed  his 
eyes  from  the  face  of  his  interlocutor.  He 
was  so  unnaturally  unembarrassed  that  John 
annoyedly  felt  his  hand  fall  to  trembling, 
and  noticed  a  drop  of  ink  splash  on  the  im- 
maculate page  of  the  great  ledger  before 
him. 

"  Don't  you  remember  me  f  "  responded 
the  stranger. 

The  tone  of  civility  was  a  shade  overdone. 

"I  think  you've  made  a  mistake,"  said 
John,  coldly  enough.  He  was  delighted  to 
find  that  his  stupid  nervousness  had  not  ex- 
tended to  his  voice,  and  so  he  made  to  turn 
firmly  to  his  work.  In  so  doing,  however,  he 
caught  a  look  of  surprise  in  the  coachman-* 
like  face  of  Mr.  Drake  and  hesitated. 

"  Why,  I'm  Jim  Tout,  and  aren't  you  Tom 
Bigelow?  "  asked  his  persecutor. 

"  No,"  replied  Haig,  with  all  the  dryness 
which  he  could  assume,  "that  is  not  my 
name." 

250 


EXIT  A  BANK  CLERK 

Mr.  Tout  appeared  to  be  politely  non- 
plused, but  not  enough  so  to  discontinue  his 
scrutiny. 

"  Oh !  "  he  apologized,  "  I  beg  your  par- 
don. Most  remarkable  resemblance  I  ever 
saw  in  my  life,  most  remarkable !  I  took  you 
for  a  man  I  used  to  know  in  Chicago  fifteen 
years  ago." 

He  retreated  at  last,  obscured  by  a  boun- 
tiful shower  of  similar  commonplaces,  simi- 
larly unsatisfactory,  and  keeping  his  eyes 
wide  open  to  the  last. 

Haig  took  up  his  eraser,  both  puzzled  and 
distressed.  He  had  not  yet  been  able  to  quiet 
himself  for  a  fool  when,  not  five  minutes 
later,  one  of  the  bank  messengers  touched 
him  on  the  arm  and  he  jumped  spasmodically 
clear  of  his  high  stool. 

"  Mr.  Drake  wants  you  in  his  office,  Mr. 
Haig." 

John  mentally  paralleled  this  summons 
with  his  last  into  the  presence  of  Bishop  Os- 
good,  and  the  likeness  did  not  soothe  his 
nerves.  He  hurried,  nevertheless,  to  the 
ground-glass  door  in  the  partition  which 
251 


THE  THINGS  THAT  ARE  CESAR'S 

separated  the  shrine  of  the  cashier  from  the 
outer  temple  of  the  counting-room  and 
pushed  it  open.  As  he  did  so  he  stepped 
upon  a  rubber  mat  which  rang  out  a  peal  of 
electric  bells  that  he  had  once  known,  but 
had  now  so  far  forgotten  as  to  be  fright- 
ened by. 

Drake,  fat,  pasty-faced,  and  red  chop- 
whiskered,  sat  at  his  mahogany  desk,  and  by 
him  sat  Mr.  Parton,  the  president,  a  giant 
with  the  severe  countenance  of  a  Roman 
senator.  Haig  had  somehow  expected  to  find 
the  inquisitive  Tout  there,  but  he  was  no- 
where to  be  seen.  The  cashier  majestically 
motioned  his  obedient  clerk  to  a  stiff,  high- 
backed  chair. 

There  was  a  pause,  during  which  Drake 
looked  solemn  inquiry  at  his  superior.  Par- 
ton,  however,  only  nodded  grimly,  and  the 
cashier  was  compelled  to  seek  a  temporary 
refuge  by  ostentatiously  clearing  his  throat. 

"Mr.  Haig,"  he  at  last  began,  "I — that 

is,  we — have  a  very  unpleasant  thing  to  say 

to  you.    You  are  most  satisfactory  here  so 

far  as  your  work  is  concerned,  and  you  know, 

252 


EXIT  A  BANK  CLERK 

for  that  matter,  that  I  have  even  spoken  to 
you  about — about— 

He  looked  appealingly  again  at  the  presi- 
dent. 

"  Oh,  nonsense,  Drake,  nonsense !  "  broke 
in  Parton  sharply.  "  He's  all  right  that  way, 
of  course,  but  what's  the  use  of  beginning 
there  f — Mr.  Haig  "  —he  turned  upon  the 
clerk — "  there  has  just  been  here  a  bank-de- 
tective who  says  he's  sure  you're  the  Haig 
he  knows  of  who  has  served  a  term  in  jail 
for  embezzlement.  Have  you  or  haven't 
you  !  " 

John  rose  sharply  to  his  feet.  An  instant 
and  he  blazed  defiance ;  the  next  and  the  grip 
of  the  world  had  choked  the  protests  out  of 
him  and  had  tossed  him  limply  back  into  his 
seat. 

Drake  was  the  breed  of  dog  whose  only 
victims  are  wounded  birds.  He  pounced  upon 
this  one. 

"  Come,  come,  Mr.  Haig,"  he  sharply 
echoed,  "  have  you  or  haven't  you  I  " 

John  made  every  effort  to  regain  his  self- 
control.  He  clutched  at  the  memory  of  his 
253 


THE  THINGS  THAT  ARE  CESAR'S 

interview  with  Gwynne,  but  he  was  no  longer 
the  same  man.  The  room  swam  about  him 
and  his  head  sank.  He  could  not  utter  a  sin- 
gle word,  and  it  seemed  hours  before  either 
of  his  tormentors  spoke. 

"  Oh,  well !  "  said  Drake  at  last — and  a 
furtive  glance  told  Haig  that  Parton,  with 
broad  back  turned,  was  closely  examining  the 
wide  expanse  of  ground-glass  door — "  oh, 
well !  This  is  an  admission,  I  suppose.  Any- 
how, Tout  knows  his  business;  the  name's 
the  same;  he  never  mistakes  a  face,  and  he 
declares  your  picture's  in  the  Rogues'  Gal- 
lery." 

John  looked  up  in  a  new  horror. 

"  In  the "  he  began  to  repeat.  But 

the  terrible  novelty  of  the  thought  was  too 
much  for  him,  and  with  the  harrowing  groan 
of  a  beaten  man  he  let  his  face  fall  to  hiding 
between  his  hands. 

"  So,  you  see,  you'll  have  to  go,"  con- 
tinued Drake.  "  We  can't  have  people  here 
whose  picture's " 

"Shut  up!" 

It  was  Parton  who  had  spoken.  He  had 
254 


EXIT  A  BANK  CLERK 

wheeled  about  with  genuine  anger  in  his  bois- 
terous voice. 

"  Don't  be  such  a  brute,  Drake,"  he  con- 
tinued more  quietly,  but  none  the  less  ear- 
nestly. "  You  never  did  know  anything  but 
dollars  and  cents.  Suppose  you  leave  me  to 
end  this." 

He  waited  until  the  door  had  closed  upon 
the  cashier,  and  then — 

"  I'm  quite  as  sorry  about  all  this  as  you 
can  be,  my  man,"  he  said  with  well-meant 
patronage.  "  I  can't  conceive  what  your 
uncle  could  have  been  about,  I  can't,  indeed." 

John  wanted  to  interfere  in  the  bishop's 
behalf,  but  he  seemed  to  be  listening  in  a 
dream  wherein  the  president's  voice  just 
reached  him  from  a  distance  over  which  he 
could  not  hope  to  reply.  It  monotonously 
ran  on: 

"  This  thing  is,  of  course,  a  purely  form- 
al precaution.  I've  no  doubt  in  the  world  but 
that  you're  perfectly  all  right  now — only, 
business  safety  depends  entirely  upon  just 
such  precautions  as  these,  and  you  must  see 
for  yourself  that  we  couldn't  afford  to  have 
255 


THE  THINGS  THAT  ARE  CESAR'S 

you,  just  as  Mr.  Drake  tried  to  say,  about 
here.  That  sort  of  protection  is  the  whole 
foundation  of  safe  business  principle,  and, 
much  as  I'd  like  to  keep  you,  there's  no  room 
for  personal  feeling,  or  sympathy,  or — or 
anything  of  that  kind  where  there's  money 
concerned.  There's  nothing  in  the  world  so 
touchy  or  delicate  as  money.  Now,  any- 
thing else  that  I  can  do  for  you,  I'd  be  glad 
to  do,  and  if  I  can  give  you  a  recommenda- 
tion anywhere — anywhere  at  all — I'll  be  only 
too  glad  to  do  it." 

He  paused,  and  John  at  length  found 
trembling  words. 

"  Thank  you,"  he  said,  "  but  I  don't  see 
how  I  could  ask  you.  The  only  thing  you 
can  do  for  me  now  is  to  have  the  boy  get  my 
things  so  I  can — get — out  of  here — without — 
going  into  the  other  room." 


256 


XIX 

"  SOMETHING  TO  DO  " 

THE  Rogues'  Gallery!  That  was  the 
thought  that  stung.  He  had  forgotten,  in  his 
optimistic  ignorance,  that  such  a  thing  ex- 
isted. Now,  his  revolted  imagination  easily 
conjured  up  for  him  something  far  worse 
than  the  reality.  He,  his  father's  son,  was 
posted  there,  then,  catalogued  and  docketed, 
with  a  printed  narrative  of  his  crime;  his 
face,  said  once  to  be  so  like  that  of  the 
mother  whom  he  had  never  seen,  was  hung  in 
a  public  place  for  every  vulgar  eye  to  gaze 
upon  and  revile,  displayed  in  every  city  in 
the  land  as  that  of  one  of  the  vultures  against 
whom  the  watchers  beside  this  dead  corpse, 
Society,  must  beware.  It  would  be  seen  and 
remembered  and  recognised  together  with 
that  of  the  latest-caught  "  confidence-man." 
It  had  been  recognised.  It  was  there  for 
257 


THE  THINGS  THAT  ARE  CESAR'S 

that.  Oh,  no  doubt,  he  thought,  life  being 
what  it  was,  the  watchers  were  right  enough 
to  stand  him  also  in  their  Toussaud-chamber 
of  living  horrors!  Even  Haig's  jaundiced 
brain  must  admit  so  much.  But  his  life  need 
never  have  been  what  it  was.  Admitting  the 
inevitability  of  an  unfriended  boy's  dazzled 
misstep,  it  still  remained  true  that,  had  not 
Fate — marvellously  disguised  in  the  person 
of  a  weak  and  shallow  cleric — imposed  upon 
his  shame  and  ignorance  with  the  most  clum- 
sily marked  cards,  he  could  have  compro- 
mised with  wrong  and  escaped  all  this.  He 
could  have  held  up  his  head  among  men  had 
he  but  shut  his  ears  against  the  pitiless  logic 
of  right. 

The  injustice  of  it!  Again  and  again, 
until  his  heart  grew  sick  and  his  head 
throbbed  to  bursting,  he  went  over,  as  he 
skulked  through  the  back  streets  homeward, 
the  rebellious  litany  of  despair.  They  had 
demanded  the  price  decreed  by  the  ages,  and 
he  had  paid  it  with  ten  sweating  years  of  his 
life — for  what? 

But,  in  the  face  of  the  necessity  for  daily 
258 


11  SOMETHING  TO  DO  " 

bread,  even  the  mood  of  revolt  could  not  last 
long.  With  the  shock  of  a  sincere  surprise, 
it  came  suddenly  back  to  him  that  he  had  now 
no  means  of  support.  It  was  characteristic  of 
the  man  that  this  should  be  one  of  the  last 
thoughts  to  occur  to  him,  yet,  having  arisen, 
it  was  equally  characteristic  that  he  should 
find  that  there  was  no  laying  it.  He  must 
get  work  of  some  sort  and  that  right  soon. 
There  had  been,  of  course,  one  or  two  tenta- 
tive advances  from  his  aunt,  but,  for  all  his 
wretchedness,  go  back  as  a  pensioner  upon 
the  bishop,  John  as  yet  would  not.  Nor  could 
he  accept  the  nauseating  though  well-meant 
patronage  of  the  bank  president.  These  two 
and  one  other  shred  of  self-esteem  he  found 
that  he  had  managed  to  retain ;  he  would  not 
seek  out  Gwynne  as  the  broken  thing  of  the 
politician's  Delphic  prophecy;  he  would  de- 
mand a  position  when  he  did  seek  him,  but  he 
would  seek  him  only  in  the  role  of  a  man 
who  was  even  then  earning  honestly  his  own 
sustenance.  To  these  tatters  of  honour  he 
clung  wildly.  Nay,  he  even  proceeded  un- 
consciously to  weave  a  whole  false  cloak  of 
259 


THE  THINGS  THAT  ARE  CESAR'S 

them  and  to  wrap  it,  with  all  the  violence  of 
the  poor  and  proud,  about  his  shivering  soul. 

So  completely,  however,  was  he  shattered 
by  this  latest  blow  of  fate  that,  until  the 
greater  fear  of  meeting  a  more  exacting  ac- 
quaintance drove  him  into  the  house,  he 
dreaded  to  face  Newton.  But  Newton,  he 
was  relieved  to  find,  was  out,  and  he  lay 
down  upon  the  bed,  every  nerve  shriekingly 
taut. 

When  his  room-mate  did  come  in  it  was 
as  one  wearied  from  vain  seeking.  To  Haig 
he  appeared  more  than  commonly  worn  out. 
He  looked,  indeed,  like  a  man  who  had  come 
to  the  end  of  his  string  and  who  knew  it.  His 
face  was  pale  and  lined.  The  mouth  drooped, 
the  lips  were  tired  lips;  the  cheeks  were 
flabby,  the  eyes  a  slow  despair.  There  was 
no  need  for  him  to  say  that  his  quest  had 
again  proved  fruitless. 

He  sank  dejectedly  into  a  chair  and  Haig, 
thinking  to  offer  such  comfort  as  is  to  be  had 
of  common  suffering,  sketched  briefly  his 
own  case  at  the  bank.  To  his  surprise  New- 
ton's face  never  relaxed  its  calm. 
260 


"  SOMETHING  TO  DO  " 

"  So  you  see,"  John  endeavoured  cheerily 
to  conclude,  "  I've  got  to  begin  on  the  same 
way  you're  travelling." 

"  Then  God  help  you,"  growled  Newton. 

But  his  words  were  far  stronger  than  his 
tone,  which  was  a  mere  perfunctory  expres- 
sion of  his  mental  inertia. 

"  But  what  do  you  think  of  it?  "  persisted 
John.  He  was  determined  to  rouse  the  man, 
and  for  some  reason  this  accomplished  the 
end  desired. 

Newton  banged  the  arm  of  his  chair. 

"  Think  of  it!  "  he  repeated.  "  Why,  I've 
been  expecting  it!  I'm  only  just  surprised 
it's  taken  so  long." 

"  You  say  that  you've  been  expecting  it  ?  " 

Newton  broke  forth  madly. 

"Sure!"  he  cried.  "What  else!  They 
say  we're  different  from  other  men,  and  they 
try  to  prove  it  with  a  tape-measure.  I  tell 
you  I'm  as  much  a  man  as  any  of  them! 
They  won't  let  us  be  crooked  and  they  won't 
have  us  straight.  What  do  they  want  us  to 
do?  Jump  in  the  river?  Why  don't  they 
give's  a  life-term  for  everything,  or  string 
261 


THE  THINGS  THAT  ABE  CESAR'S 

us  up  like  they  used  to  do,  and  be  done  with 
it!  God  A'mighty,  you  were  out  of  it  'cause 
you  had  a  pull — oh,  you  didn't  think  so,  but 
you  had — but  I  tell  you  there  're  things  goes 
on  in  every  jail — an'  the  keepers  knows  it, 
all  right — as  makes  it  no  use — just  no  use — 
for  any  one  after  he  gets  out!  Do?  I'll  tell 
you  what  we'll  do,  we'll  either  go  back  to  jail 
or  we'll  starve !  " 

John  tried  to  laugh,  but  failed.  In  the 
moment  he  selfishly  saw  that  his  own  plight 
was  even  worse  than  Newton's,  and  vaguely 
indicated  its  complicating  factor. 

Immediately  with  the  confession  came 
temporary  relief. 

"  Of  course,"  he  said,  "  the  realization  of 
her  sympathy  is  a  lot  to  me,  and  with  all  the 
universe  against  us  she  and  I  stand  alone, 
but  perfectly  safe  behind  the  wall  of  our  love. 
She's — she's  the  Woman  Who  Understands." 

Newton  had  followed  most  of  the  ha- 
rangue but  lamely.  Now,  however,  he  looked 
keenly  at  the  speaker. 

"  Does  she  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Well,  she  would,  if  she  knew,"  Haig  con- 
262 


"  SOMETHING  TO  DO  " 

fusedly  explained.  "  I  must  at  last  tell  her, 
of  course.  I  can  tell  her  everything  easily 
then." 

With  a  great  joy  he  looked  from  his  weak- 
ness to  lay  his  bloody  head  upon  the  firm 
bosom  of  her  kindly  strength.  Even  now  he 
thought  that,  leaping  space,  the  exultant  fact 
of  their  relations  sufficed  beyond  the  capa- 
bilities of  cruder  vehicles  to  make  her  feel 
it  all.  She  was  there — there — with  pulses 
beating  in  tune  to  his  own,  shielding  him 
with  gracious  gesture  beneath  the  great,  soft, 
all-sheltering  mantle  of  her  love. 

He  was  certain  of  this,  and  yet  he  could 
not  tell  Newton.  He  feared  but  tried  to  get 
the  man's  opinion,  and,  failing  to  make  him 
speak  a  word,  he  conceded  so  much  as  to 
write  to  her  that  he  had  been  called  out  of 
town — to  remain,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  until 
he  had  caught,  in  town,  that  awful  jack-o'- 
lantern,  Something-To-Do.  Here  was  a  con- 
cession to  the  material.  No  matter,  it  was 
but  temporary.  Meanwhile,  it  was  just  his 
certainty  of  her  that  enabled  him  to  write  the 
note,  and  he  did  write  it  with  the  satisfying 
263 


THE  THINGS  THAT  AEE  CESAR'S 

subconscious  assurance  that  it  was  she  alone 
who  so  bound  him  to  his  older  and  higher 
ideals  of  life  as  to  make  it  possible  now  to 
take  up  weary  arms  again  and  renew  the  los- 
ing battle  here,  in  this  city,  on  the  same  grim 
ground. 

The  letter  once  mailed,  he  returned  with 
hope  high. 

"  I'm  not  ready  to  starve  quite  yet,"  he 
said.  "  Let's  see  the  papers." 

Newton  tossed  him  an  armful. 

"Wish  you  luck,"  he  muttered.  "I've 
been  to  every  place  there." 

"  Hum,"  grunted  Haig,  running  through 
the  columns  with  an  eye  practised  from  his 
ledgers.  "  They  don't  seem  to  want  any 
book-keepers  to-day,  that's  a  fact." 

Nor  did  they  the  next  day,  nor  the  next. 
They  seemed,  indeed,  to  want  nothing  that 
was,  as  he  put  it,  in  his  line.  He  bought  all 
the  papers  and  followed  the  want  advertise- 
ments more  and  more  carefully.  Then  he 
awoke  to  the  sense  that  he  must  simply  ex- 
tend his  line,  must  take,  in  a  word,  whatever 
he  could  get.  Thus,  after  a  study  of  the 
264 


"  SOMETHING  TO  DO  " 

closely  printed  pages,  he  would  start  out 
every  morning  to  answer  all  that  offered. 

Newton  would  hopelessly  go  over  the  pa- 
pers with  him,  and  they  would  divide  the  city 
into  halves,  spending  their  evenings  in  writ- 
ing to  such  advertisers  as  concealed  their 
identity,  or  otherwise  required  a  letter.  But 
gradually  Haig  became  impressed  with  the 
feeling  that  his  companion's  search  was  be- 
ing conducted  perfunctorily,  and  merely  as 
a  concession  to  his  benefactor's  feelings. 
The  man  was  quite  hopeless,  and  was,  de- 
spite his  rough  attempts  at  kindness,  of  too 
simple  a  nature  to  conceal  it.  He  was  obvi- 
ously studying  John's  mood  and  making  a 
tremendous  effort  to  accommodate  himself 
thereto.  He  was  willing  to  a  degree  which 
at  times  became  oppressive;  he  spared  him- 
self nothing  in  his  endeavours,  but,  though 
John  felt  all  this  to  a  point  that  aroused  him 
to  real  friendship,  he  saw  also  the  underlying 
conviction  of  his  more  experienced  fellow, 
and  the  contagion  spread  gradually  to  his 
own  soul. 

It  was  a  season  of  hard  times,  and  bona 
18  265 


THE  THINGS  THAT  ARE  CESAR'S 

fide  positions  were  rare.  At  hand  there  were 
to  be  had  ten  men  for  every  one  place,  and 
small  need  was  there  to  advertise  for  appli- 
cants. But  —  beamers,  cutters,  machine- 
hands,  paper-hangers,  salesmen — the  two 
outcasts  went  doggedly  through  the  weary 
lists  from  A  to  Z.  One  thing  only  they  came 
to  rule  out — all  calls  for  canvassers.  These 
positions  John  found  generally  wanted  solic- 
itors for  books  which  could  never  sell,  and 
many  a  vague  but  promising  advertisement 
ended  in  the  rickety  "  office  "  of  some  sub- 
agent  for  such  a  publication. 

Yet  Haig  gritted  his  teeth  and  kept  on. 
He  resolved  not  to  see  Phyllis  until  he  had 
something — anything  now  so  that  it  was  some- 
thing— to  do,  and  to  this  determination,  to- 
gether with  those  concerning  Gwynne  and  the 
bishop,  he  managed  still  to  adhere.  The 
very  soreness  of  his  straits  had  lent  to  his 
weakened  character  a  hate  of  the  world,  and 
an  oath  to  force  from  it  its  debt  of  daily 
bread  which,  added  to  his  secure  faith  in  his 
sweetheart,  served  the  want  of  more  substan- 
tial resolve. 

266 


"  SOMETHING  TO  DO  " 

Yet  for  whatever  positions  he  found  open 
he  could  not  qualify.  The  demand,  such  as  it 
was,  was  all  for  skilled  labour,  and  so  things 
went  with  the  castaways  from  bad  to  worse. 
They  sought  to  economize  first  by  cutting 
their  rations  to  two  and  then  to  one  meal  a 
day,  while  by  hard  degrees,  John  descended 
the  scale  until  he  would  have  gone  for  a  sta- 
ble-boy rather  than  acknowledge  defeat.  He 
would  now  try  anything  but  surrender. 

"  Here's  something  promising,"  he  re- 
marked one  morning,  as  he  read : 

"  Wanted :   Young  man  for   responsible 

clerical  position. 
"Must  be  neat.     Twenty-five  dollars  a 

week  possible." 

"  Well,"  said  Newton,  "  if  it's  promising 
it's  a  liar,  that's  all." 

"Why  so!" 

"  'Cause  it  ain't  possible,  that's  why.  It's 
another  o'  them  fake  book-agents." 

"How  do  you  know!" 

"  Was  in  last  week.  I  looked  it  up.  You 
must  be  forgettin'." 

267 


THE  THINGS  THAT  ARE  CAESAR'S 

And  he  was  right.  In  spite  of  the  fact  that 
all  want  advertisements  read  so  alluringly 
alike,  a  little  exercise  of  the  memory  proved 
that  nearly  every  one  which  appeared  that 
day  was  a  repetition  of  some  one  which  John 
had  hopefully  weighed  and  despairingly 
found  wanting  at  some  time  or  other  during 
the  past  ten  days.  What  remained  were  of 
a  stamp  too  hopelessly  familiar  to  induce  in- 
vestigation. The  next  morning  it  was  the 
same,  save  that  the  new  ones  were  still  fewer 
and  worse.  On  the  third  day  there  were  no 
new  ones  at  all. 

That  morning  Newton  was  clumsily  ner- 
vous. He  fidgeted  about  the  room  like  a 
caged  polar  bear  in  a  midsummer  circus. 

For  a  while  Haig  watched  him  furtively 
from  behind  a  newspaper.  He  himself  was 
nervous,  and  every  sudden  movement  of  his 
companion  startled  him.  He  would  not  yet 
despair  of  their  situation,  but  he  was  grow- 
ing very  tired. 

Finally  Newton  made  a  little  sound  of 
drumming  upon  the  window-pane. 

It  was  the  last  straw  for  Haig. 
268 


"  What  the  devil's  the  matter  with  you? " 
he  broke  out. 

Newton  turned.  It  was  the  opening  he 
had  been  longing  for.  He  was  most  at  home 
in  such  moods  precisely  so  interpreted. 

"  Just  that,"  he  said  angrily.  "  Just  what 
you're  showin'.  Look  here,  I  may  be  all 
kinds  of  a  lobster,  but  I'm  not  a  born  sponge, 
and  I  won't  be  one,  either.  See!" 

John  saw,  and  his  temper  changed  to  one 
more  generous.  But  at  last  Newton  had 
caught  his  pace  and  so  forbade  interruption. 

"  We've  been  at  this  long  enough.  I  ain't 
a-goin'  on  livin'  on  you  forever,  an'  you 
ought  t'  know  it.  I  ain't  that  kind,  thank  you, 
Oh,  there  ain't  no  use  bluffin'  no  more!  I'm 
on  all  right.  Great  thunder,  how  could  I  help 
bein'f  Your  money  can't  last  forever,  an* 
I'm  not  a-goin' t'  help  eat  it  up.  I  don't  know 
what  you  take  me  for,  but  I'm  no  fool,  an'  I 
know  there  ain't  nothin'  in  this  huntin1 
around  fer  a  job,  an'  you  know  it,  an'  I'm 
goin'  t'  cut.  By  the  Lord,  this  time  I  mean 
it!" 

For  answer  John  tossed  him  a  cigarette 
269 


THE  THINGS  THAT  AKE  CESAR'S 

and  began  with  the  strongest  of  masculine 
arguments. 

"Now,  don't  be  a  fool,  Tom,"  he  said. 

"Naw,  I  won't  be,  you  bet.  Ain't  that 
what  I'm  a-tellin'  you?  " 

John  looked  into  the  hot,  wicked  face,  and 
read  the  depth  of  good  feeling  which  the  man 
was  trying  so  hard  to  conceal  beneath  his 
anger.  Here  at  last  was  the  friend  he  had  al- 
ways felt  was  sleeping  somewhere  in  the 
strange  caverns  of  Newton's  curious  identity. 

"  Smoke  up,"  he  ordered,  and  as  the 
man,  from  habit,  obeyed,  he  continued :  "I 
know  you  mean  it  all  right,  but  it's  no  go. 
Look  here,  haven't  I  done  my  best  for 
you?" 

"  That's  it,"  cried  Newton,  "  an'  I  don't 
thank  you  for  thinkin'  I'd  keep  on  lettin'  you 
now.  I've  done  it  a  sight  longer  than  I  ought 
ter  as  it  is.  I  ain't  no  lobster." 

"  Wait  a  bit.  I  have  done  the  best  I  could, 
haven't  If" 

Newton  descended  to  the  sullen  stage  that 
always  masks  the  embarrassment  of  the  un- 
emotionally ignorant. 

270 


"  SOMETHING  TO  DO  " 

"I  tell  you  I  ain't  no  lobster,"  he  re- 
peated. 

"  Then  you'll  do  me  a  favour  in  return 
for  what  little  I've  been  able  to  do  for 
you."  John's  voice  shook  with  real  earnest- 
ness. "  Do  you  think  I  want — do  you  think, 
man,  I  want  to  be  left  alone  to  face  this 
thing!  " 

With  an  unpremeditated  gesture  he 
threw  open  his  coat,  and  Newton's  quick 
eye  caught  his  meaning:  his  watch  was 
gone. 

But  Haig  had  miscalculated  by  just  one 
point.  The  sight  warmed  his  fellow  again  to 
all  the  former  revolt. 

"That's  it!  That's  it!"  he  reiterated. 
"I'll  not  stand  for  it  I" 

But  Haig  was  too  much  in  earnest  to  be 
daunted.  He  was  frankly  moved  by  just  the 
motives  he  had  indicated.  He  had  found  at 
last  a  friend — even  Phyllis  could  not,  in  the 
present  crisis,  be  that  to  him — and  that  he 
could  not  afford  to  lose  at  the  very  summit 
of  misfortune.  Least  of  all  could  he  bear, 
from  blank  fear  of  the  moral  effect  upon  his 
271 


THE  THINGS  THAT  ARE  CAESAR'S 

own  forces,  the  sight  of  his  ally  flying  from 
the  battle. 

He  walked  to  the  window  and  put  his  two 
tremulous  hands  on  the  man's  heaving  shoul- 
ders. 

"  Tom,"  he  said,  "  I  want  you  by  me. 
Don't  run  away  now.  You've  got  to  stay  to 
help  me  out." 

Newton's  eyes  showed  suspicion  of  this 
logic. 

"  No,"  he  muttered. 

"  But  you've  got  to." 

"  No." 

"Please,  Tom." 

"  No." 

But  this  time  the  negative  was  fainter; 
the  man  was  wavering. 

Hotly  John  pressed  his  advantage. 

"  You  must,"  he  insisted.  "  I  wouldn't  go 
back  on  you  like  this.  If  you'd  asked  me,  I'd 
have  done  it  for  you." 

Newton  looked  hard  at  the  floor. 

"  How  much  you  got  ?  "  he  finally  asked. 

"Oh,  that's  all  right!" 

"How  much?" 

272 


"  SOMETHING  TO  DO  " 

"Fifteen  dollars.  But  listen.  That'll 
pay  our  way  out  of  here  and  into  a — a 
cheaper  place,  and  I'll  make  the  effort  of  my 
life  for  the  rest  of  the  week.  I'll  take  any- 
thing, as  you  know — for  my  own  sake.  Let 
me  have  just  till  the  end  of  the  week,  and  if 
I  don't  get  anything  by  that  time  I  won't  ask 
you  to  stay.  Or  just  wait  for  to-day,  Tom; 
I — I  need  you." 

Newton  listened  with  knotted  forehead, 
but  the  final  appeal  won  the  day  for  Haig. 

"  All  right,"  he  at  last  mumbled,  and 
John,  laughing,  flung  on  an  overcoat  and 
dashed  out. 

In  three  hours  he  returned.  He  had 
found  a  place,  he  said,  and,  upon  being 
pressed,  he  added  that,  after  soliciting  al- 
most from  door  to  door,  he  had  secured  em- 
ployment as  a  clerk  in  a  poor  grocery-shop 
far  down  town.  But  Newton's  ideas  of  work 
had  always  been  too  vague,  and  had  lately 
been  too  dulled,  to  draw  any  fine  distinctions 
of  grade.  He  accepted  calmly,  therefore,  the 
invitation  that  went  with  Haig's  announce- 
ment, especially  as  John  insisted  that  he 
273 


THE  THINGS  THAT  AEE  CESAR'S 

would  soon  be  able  to  find  a  position  for  Ms 
friend  in  the  same  shop.  They  made  ready 
immediately  for  a  move  to  cheaper  quarters, 
and,  once  this  was  accomplished,  Haig  al- 
lowed himself  his  reward :  he  set  out  to  find 
Phyllis. 


274 


XX 

CROSS-PURPOSES 

AT  last  John's  plans  were  definite.  After 
all  the  weary  waiting  the  doubts  were  dis- 
proved which  he  could  at  last  confess  to  hav- 
ing harboured;  the  battle  was  won.  He  was 
to  get,  it  was  true,  the  splendid  sum  of  five 
dollars  a  week,  but  that  was  not  the  point. 
The  point  was  that  he  should  at  last  earn 
some  money,  however  little.  He  had  exalted 
above  all  other  ideals  the  respectability  of 
the  wage-earner.  To  that  he  had  pinned  his 
new  conceptions  of  self-esteem,  and  because 
of  that  he  could  now,  at  the  end  of  a  week, 
go  to  Gwynne  and  make  his  contemplated  de- 
mands for  some  sort  of  substantial  political 
preferment. 

Again  he  was  walking  upon  the  air.  Dur- 
ing his  season  of  misfortune  he  had  severely 
allowed  that  single  letter  which  he  had  writ- 
275 


THE  THINGS  THAT  ARE  CESAR'S 

ten  at  its  beginning  to  cut  him  off  from  all 
sight  of  Phyllis,  and  an  unformed  sense  of 
chivalry,  added  to  a  strange  new  pride  in  im- 
posing upon  him  the  feeling  that  he  must  not, 
even  by  further  writing,  intrude  his  sorrows 
upon  her  while  his  foot  was  still  sore  from 
the  tread  of  the  black  ox.  But  nothing  could 
prevent  his  living  all  the  while  upon  the 
thought  of  her  just  as,  in  jail,  he  had  once, 
and  for  so  much  longer,  lived  upon  the  vain 
thought  of  atonement.  Now,  while  winter 
was  at  its  height  in  all  the  world  about  him, 
the  spring  of  hope  blossomed  swiftly  in  his 
heart  towards  the  full-blown  summer  of  cer- 
tainty. He  could  explain  easily  enough  his 
long  silence ;  indeed,  his  parting  note  had,  he 
reflected,  sufficiently  prepared  her  for  the  ex- 
planation. The  one  thing  that  troubled  him 
was  the  chance  of  finding  her  just  then  at 
home. 

But  at  first  he  felt  that  chance  was  now 
consistently  favouring  him.  As,  with  swell- 
ing impatience,  he  neared  the  house,  he  saw 
some  persons  being  shown  out.  He  paused 
until  they  had  half-descended  the  steps,  and 
276 


CROSS-PURPOSES 

then,  unable  longer  to  keep  the  leash  upon 
his  emotions,  he  hurried  past  them,  brushed 
by  the  startled  servant,  and  stepped  into  the 
deep-coloured  reception-room  where  he  had 
first  met  her. 

She  was  just  about  to  leave  it,  was  stand- 
ing alone  in  the  full  glare  of  the  lights  from 
the  big  chandelier,  clad  again  in  that  gown 
of  filmy  blue,  and  regarding  him  with  great, 
startled  eyes  that,  as  he  rushed  forward,  let 
fly,  nevertheless,  a  challenge  which  arrested 
him  midway. 

"  Phyllis !  "  he  cried. 

She  looked  at  him  steadily.  Then  her 
eyes  closed  and  she  swayed  a  little,  but,  as 
he  thereupon  once  more  stepped  forward,  a 
firm  hand  waved  him  gently  back.  She  spoke 
one  word,  in  a  strange,  abstracted  voice,  an 
empty  echo  of  her  once  familiar  tones,  new 
and  far  away. 

"  Well  ? "  she  asked,  and  again,  as  he  in 
turn  hesitated  and  grasped  at  the  frail  sup- 
port of  a  gilded  chair,  "  Well?  " 

For  the  first  time  in  his  life  terror  laid 
hold  of  Haig  and  mastered  him.  He  was 
277 


THE  THINGS  THAT  ABE  CESAR'S 

throttled  in  the  sudden  and  relentless  gasp 
of  his  vague  appreciation  of  all  that  had 
happened.  He  could  not  think;  he  knew 
only  that  he  was  face  to  face  with  his  ulti- 
mate tragedy,  and  that  he  was  afraid  of  it — 
afraid. 

Woman-like,  however,  Phyllis  was  about 
to  begin  with  her  lesser  complaint. 

"  This  is  rather  unexpected,"  she  said 
with  that  nervous  coldness  which  her  sex  in- 
variably employs  to  disguise  its  greatest 
warmth.  "  You  return,  it  seems,  even  more 
suddenly  than  you  go." 

The  minor  difficulty  John  welcomed  as  a 
genuine  escape  from  the  greater. 

"  But,  Phyllis,"  he  protested,  "  I  wrote 
you  before  I  left;  I  explained  that  I  had 
to  go." 

"Yes,"  she  replied  with  closely  studied 
emphasis.  "  You  wrote — before  you  went." 

"  Oh !  "  he  cried  with  a  sadly  miscalculated 
relief,  "  was  that  it  1 "  Then,  on  the  instant, 
he  saw  in  her  face  the  failure  of  this  feint, 
and,  his  ignorance  of  woman  preventing  him 
from  guessing  why  it  had  failed,  he  blindly 
278 


CROSS-PURPOSES 

continued:  "But,  my  dear,  I  couldn't  write 
again,  I  couldn't,  really." 

In  vain.  He  paused,  and  aa  her  eyes 
still  hardened  there  fled  from  him  once 
more  all  his  resolutions  towards  detailed 
disclosure.  There  was,  even  he  could  see, 
only  the  paramount  necessity  of  present 
reconciliation.  Everything  else  could  wait — 
nay,  must  wait — upon  that.  In  full  panic 
he  lunged  wildly,  seeking  the  weakness 
that  there  must,  he  felt,  be  somewhere  in  her 
guard: 

"  Oh,  Phyllis,  I  beg  you  to  believe  me  in 
this !  I  can't  explain  just  yet — there  are  sev- 
eral things  that  I  must  explain  some  day  soon 
— but  I  can't  explain  them  now.  I  can  only 
promise  you  that  they  are  things  that  you 
will  understand  easily  enough  then,  and  I  ask 
you,  dear,  ask  you  to  love  me  still  and  to 
trust  me  this  once." 

For  another  moment  she  looked  steadily 
at  him,  looked  at  him  with  a  glance  which  cut 
deep  into  his  breast.  But — 

"No,"  she  said.  "I've  had  enough  of 
trusting." 

279 


THE  THINGS  THAT  ARE  CESAR'S 

Again  that  bewildering  sword-play  of  at- 
tack. 

"  What  do  you  mean?  "  he  appealed  to 
her  in  dazzled  agony.  "  Have  I  ever  asked 
you  to  trust  me?  Have  I,  ever  since  I  first 
knew  you  " — it  seemed  so  long ! — "  put  you  to 
this  or  any  test?  Tell  me,  have  I? " 

"  Test?  "  she  repeated  in  fine  scorn.  "  Is 
there — has  there  ever  been  any  need  of  that? 
.What  cause  has  there  ever  been  for  any  test 
—of  me?" 

Hopelessly  he  admitted  to  himself  that 
he  had  been  too  precipitate;  despairingly 
he  attempted  calmly  to  gather  all  his 
force  for  the  more  logical  method  of  ad- 
vance. 

"  But,  Phyllis,"  he  insisted,  "  can't  you  see 
that  this  is  really  all  simply  absurd?  You 
know  me;  you  know  that  I  love  you.  Why, 
then,  do  you  refuse  to  trust  me  in  so  entirely 
simple  an  affair?" 

She  was  twisting  between  her  white  hands 
that  same  frail  bit  of  a  fan. 

"  That's  it,"  she  answered,  steadily  re- 
garding her  play.  "  Do  I  know  you?  .That's 
280 


just  it,  you  see.  Oh!  " — a  woman  to  the  last, 
she  broke  away  from  the  abstractions  into  a 
passionate  appeal  to  the  concrete — "  Do  you 
realize  to  what  you  have  subjected  me?  Do 
you  realize  it?  You  couldn't  ask  me  this  if 
you  did — not  even  you !  "  She  flashed  it  at 
him  angrily,  and,  as  her  glance  compre- 
hended his  blank  stare :  "  But  you  don't,  I 
see,"  she  said  amazedly.  "  You  don't.  I 
wonder  how  you  could  have  failed  to  count 
upon  this,  but  it  seems  that  you  somehow 
haven't.  Well  " — she  finally  let  him  have  it— 
"  what  are  these  horrible  lies  they  are  telling 
about  you?  " 

Then  he  realized  it  easily  enough.  Here 
also  the  truth  was  to  confront  him.  His  hesi- 
tation, his  cowardly  delay — yes,  he  could  see 
now  that  it  was  cowardly ! — had  lost  him  this 
last  chance  of  defeating  the  prejudice  of  the 
world. 

But,  upon  the  coming  of  certainty,  terror 
fled.  He  had  a  horror  of  the  unknown,  the 
tangible  he  would  fight  upon  any  ground. 
Shame  for  his  deception  was  against  him,  but 
the  hurt  of  that  was  speedily  overthrown  in 
19  281 


THE  THINGS  THAT  ABE  CESAR'S 

the  exaltation,  in  the  real  glory  of  defeat 
courageously  met  and  borne. 

He  paused  an  instant  only,  but  in  that 
pause  her  face,  though  he  was  now  wholly 
unable  to  read  it,  passed  from  anger  to  sor- 
row, and  when  she  broke  the  silence,  ere 
words  came  to  him,  it  was  with  a  last  forlorn 
appeal  to  hope. 

"Well,"  she  repeated,  broken  on  the 
wheel  of  her  contending  emotions,  "  what  are 
these  horrible  lies  f  " 

Understanding  made  him  cautious;  he 
wished  to  confirm  it  to  a  certainty. 

"  They  have  told  you,"  he  asked  now 
steadily  enough,  "  just  what?  " 

Her  head  in  her  hands,  she  sank  upon  a 
near-by  ottoman.  She  could  not  face  him  with 
the  accusations  because  she  loved  him,  and 
so  feared  that  she  might  read  confession  in 
his  gaze. 

There  was  another  silence. 

At  length  Haig  repeated  his  question. 

"Why,"  she  then  said,  still  shutting  out 
all  sight  of  him,  "  they  are  all  talking  about 
you.  They  gloat  over  it  because  the  bishop 
282 


CROSS-PURPOSES 

is  your  uncle  and  be  brought  you  here.  They 
say  you've  been  a  criminal.  I  have  had  to 
stay  here  and  listen  to  it  all — all — and  you 
God  knew  where!  There  is  nothing  they 
haven't  said.  Oh,  John,  they  have  even  said 
you'd — you'd  been  in  jail!" 

He  made  towards  her,  but  she  would  not 
suffer  him  until  he  had  replied.  His  face 
was  so  calm,  his  jaw  so  squared,  that,  now 
she  dared  a  look,  she  saw  in  him  only 
righteous  anger,  and  ventured  again  to 
vent  her  nervousness  upon  her  fan,  sitting 
very  straight,  but  very  white,  upon  the  otto- 
man. 

John  paused,  then,  full  before  her,  and 
answered  with  his  eyes  squarely  upon  her 
face. 

"  They  said  I'd  been  a  criminal,  did  they, 
and  that  I'd  been  in  jail?  " 

She  nodded  gravely.  The  words  sounded 
worse,  if  that  were  possible,  from  his  lips 
than  from  hers. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  "  those  were  not  lies." 

He  watched  her  pitilessly.     Her  mouth 
tightened  a  little  as  if  from  physical  pain. 
283 


THE  THINGS  THAT  ABE  CESAR'S 

The  fan  broke  in  two  pieces  and  one  fell  on 
the  floor.  He  waited,  but  she  did  not  speak. 
She  did  not  even  sob.  She  only  looked  at 
him,  through  him,  past  him.  Pride  might  be 
much,  right  might  be  much,  but  for  the  mo- 
ment love  was  more  than  either.  He  bore  it 
as  long  as  he  could,  and  then  gave  way  to 
the  old  terror  of  it  all. 

He  ran  upon  her,  calling  her  name  and 
grasping  her  hand,  but  she  sprang  up  and 
aside,  tearing  her  hand  away  with  a  shiver 
of  loathing  and  a  look  that  he  could  not  this 
time  misinterpret.  He  forgot  at  once  the  last 
retreating  glimmer  of  his  deception,  and 
dealt  only  with  the  hardness  of  his  own 
estate. 

"  Why  ?  Why  ?  "  he  cried  out  to  her.  "  What 
have  I  done  to  deserve  this?  I  went  wrong. 
I  stole  money.  I  admit  that — all  of  it.  But 
I  could  have  got  away  from  the  consequences 
if  I'd  wanted  to.  Instead,  I  was  sorry  for 
what  I'd  done.  I  took  all  the  medicine,  every 
drop  of  it.  I  was  ready  to  receive  the  punish- 
ment that  they'd  fixed  on  as  the  right  one.  I 
took  it,  I  say.  I  served  ten  years.  Do  you 
284 


CROSS-PURPOSES 

hear  me 7  Ten  years!  Do  you  know  what 
that  means!  Ten  years — the  best  ones — out 
of  my  life,  ten  years  at  hard  work,  deservedly, 
with  thugs  and  murderers  for  my  neighbours 
and  companions.  Well,  I  was  kept  up  by 
just  one  thing:  by  my  resolve  to  accept  the 
punishment  to  the  bitter  end  just  so  that  I 
could  do  right,  just  so  that  I  could  come  out 
a  clean  man  and  make  a  fresh  start.  I  might 
have  lied  and  cringed  and  I'd  never  have  had 
to  go  to  jail  at  all,  but  I  wanted  to  be  square 
—to  be  squared.  And  what  have  they  done 
for  me  in  return!  One  man,  who's  worse 
than  I  ever  was,  tells  me  he's  better  than  I 
am  because  he's  never  had  the  honest  courage 
to  face  his  wrong;  a  second,  who  was  a  liar 
and  a  cheat,  fires  me  from  the  paper  because 
I'd  done  what  I  ought  to  do;  another  won't 
allow  me  in  his  bank  because  I've  obeyed  the 
same  code  of  laws  that  makes  it  possible  for 
him  to  have  a  bank!  Even  the  man  who 
taught  me  all  and  brought  it  all  upon  me — 
even  he  turns  me  out  of  his  house  because 
I've  adhered  to  the  teachings  of  him  and  his 
Church!  Are  you  going  to  be  like  the  rest? 
285 


THE  THINGS  THAT  ARE  CESAR'S 

You  know  me  better  than  any  of  them.  Are 
you  going  to  turn  from  me,  too ?  " 

He  ended  in  a  voice  broken  by  sobs  of 
self-pity,  but  Phyllis,  though  above  her  cor- 
sage her  vivid  breast  was  heaving,  remained, 
true  to  her  blood  and  breeding,  dry-eyed  to 
the  end. 

"  I  didn't  know  you !  "  she  replied.  "  It's 
just  as  I  thought.  I  didn't  know  you. 
Square?  Do  you  call  it  square  or  high- 
minded  to  deceive  me  the  way  you've  done? 
Was  that  in  line  with  all  the  fine  things 
you've  just  been  ascribing  to  yourself? 
Why,  your  whole  acquaintance  with  me 
has  been  one  black  lie  from  beginning  to 
end!" 

But  John  was  more  seriously  poisoned  by 
the  weeds  of  the  world  than  he  had  guessed. 
He  rose,  hat  in  hand. 

"It's  not  that,"  he  said  slowly.  "You 
could  easily  see  how  I'd  hesitate  about  tell- 
ing you,  and  you  must  know  that  I'd  have 
told  you  some  day.  But  it's  not  that.  It's 
not  that  I  haven't  told  you.  You  wouldn't 
have  let  me  near  you  in  the  start  if  I  had. 
286 


CROSS-PURPOSES 

It's  that  I  was  in  jail.  You're  just  like  the 
rest." 

"  Whether  I'd  have  let  you  go  on  if  you'd 
told  me  in  time ! "  she  returned.  "  That's 
nothing  to  do  with  it.  It  was  your  plain  duty 
to  tell  me,  happen  what  might  to  yourself. 
But  instead  everybody  in  the  world  seems  to 
have  known  it  before  I  did." 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  turning  to  go.  "  '  Every- 
body knew.'  That's  it.  But  there's  more 
than  even  that,"  he  added  bitterly  from  the 
shadow  of  the  doorway.  "  There's  just  what 
I  said  there  was.  You  may  think  it's  because 
I  didn't  tell  you.  But  it's  really  all  because, 
to  right  what  was  wrong,  I've  done  what  was 
right.  It's  because  I've  been  in  jail." 


287 


XXI 

THE   KISS  OF  DEATH 

His  insensible  fears  had  been  right;  this 
was,  indeed,  the  ultimate  tragedy. 

He  left  her  house  crushed  by  the  ordeal. 
Unconsciously,  he  found,  he  had  been  keep- 
ing in  his  heart  one  little  corner  consecrated 
to  his  earlier  ethical  convictions.  Now  the 
high  priestess  had  forsaken  the  shrine. 

He  went  back  to  his  new  lodging,  a  miser- 
able, sloping-roofed,  brick-walled  garret  in 
the  roughest  quarter  of  the  city,  and,  for  the 
second  time  in  the  past  few  weeks,  was  re- 
lieved to  find  Newton  absent.  He  sat  down 
on  the  low  edge  of  his  ramshackle  bed  and 
tried  hard  to  think  it  over. 

Logical  thought,  however,  was  slow  in 
coming.  He  was  sensible  of  only  one  feel- 
ing: the  desire  to  run  away.  This  last  blow, 
he  believed,  had  torn  asunder  the  weak  life- 
288 


THE  KISS  OF  DEATH 

raft  on  which  he  had  escaped  from  the  wreck 
of  his  manhood.  He  had  no  longer  any  de- 
sire to  live.  He  wanted  only  to  crawl  into 
some  hole — into  any  corner — and  hide.  But 
even  that,  he  bitterly  realized,  required 
money — without  money  a  man  might  not  de- 
cently even  die — and  he  had  now  next  to 
nothing.  For  the  nonce  only  the  coward  was 
left  in  him.  With  the  faith  of  Phyllis  he  felt 
that  he  could  easily  have  fought  on ;  without 
it  he  simply  ceased  to  care.  One  thing  alone 
was  left  him — the  false  pride,  born  of  insane 
hatred,  that  forbade  an  appeal  to  Gwynne. 
Yet  the  bishop  was  left,  and,  upon  the 
thought,  his  debased  soul  drove  him  to  his 
uncle's  door. 

The  servant  was  palpably  embarrassed. 

"  I'm  very  sorry,  Mr.  Haig,"  he  apolo- 
gized, "  but  Dr.  Osgood  isn't  in." 

"  Nor  my  aunt?  " 

"  Nor  Mrs.  Osgood,  sir." 

"  Well,  where  is  my  uncle,  and  when  will 
he  be  back?  " 

The  servant  collapsed. 

"  Oh,  Mr.  John,"  he  began,  "  you've  al- 
289 


THE  THINGS  THAT  ARE  CESAR'S 

ways  been  kind  to  me,  but  it's  orders,  sir, 
positive  orders  this  very  day,  and  as  much 
as  me  job's  worth,  sir!" 

Haig  turned  away  with  a  bitter  heart.  It 
was  not  so  much  that  he  had  so  lowered  him- 
self as  that  he  should  have  been  so  patently 
expected  to  do  it.  But  there  again  arose  his 
pride.  Very  well,  he  could  wait.  Tramp 
he  would  not.  He  could  wait  a  month  or  two 
— a  year,  if  necessary.  By  that  time  he  could 
surely  have  saved  his  fare  elsewhere,  and 
then  he  might  somehow  get  into  another  land. 

He  went  to  bed,  but  not  to  sleep,  and  was 
broad  awake  when,  with  the  first  gleam  of  the 
daylight,  Newton  entered. 

"  You're  late,"  John  ventured,  seeing  that 
some  word  was  expected  of  him. 

Newton  slouched  into  a  corner  and  there 
deposited  a  great  bundle  that  he  had  just 
been  able  to  get  under  his  arm. 

"  Got  a  job,"  he  elucidated,  "  an'  started 
right  in  on  it." 

"What  is  it?" 

"  Night-watchman  in  a  factory  up-town. 
You've  got  to  let  me  pay  off  what  I  owe  you 
290 


THE  KISS  OF  DEATH 

in  a  day  or  two.  But  I'll  tell  you  all  about 
the  job  in  the  morning." 

The  explanation  was  destined,  however, 
never  to  be  forthcoming,  for  John  was  at  last 
too  sleepy  just  then  to  insist,  and  was  up 
early  next  morning  to  begin  his  new  work  at 
the  store.  Thereafter,  as  their  hours  so 
varied,  and  as  Tom  never  again  referred  to 
his  business,  his  companion,  half-respectful- 
ly,  asked  no  questions. 

He  went  about  his  work  with  a  bold  des- 
peration which  he  welcomed  for  courage. 
He  stood  behind  the  grimy  counter  in  the 
low-ceilinged  shop  and  shovelled  into  the 
scales,  for  slatternly  women  and  ragged  chil- 
dren of  all  colours,  sugar,  coffee,  and  rice,  in 
the  smallest  imaginable  quantities  at  the 
smallest  imaginable  price.  This  from  seven 
in  the  morning  until  close  upon  midnight. 
There  were  times  when  he  welcomed  the  hard 
work  if  only  for  the  few  hours  of  quiet  sleep 
which  it  was  at  last  certain  to  insure. 

Of  Newton  he  saw  less  and  less.  The  man 
was  generally  in  bed  when  he  got  up,  and 
never  returned  until  long  after  John  was 
291 


THE  THINGS  THAT  AEE  CESAR'S 

wrapped  in  slumber,  and  for  several  days 
the  only  long  conversation  between  them  was 
one  in  which  they  nearly  came  to  blows  over 
Haig's  refusal  to  consider  Newton  in  his 
debt. 

But  the  already  accustomed  order  was 
not  long  to  last.  Haig  was  one  day  at  work 
in  the  store  when,  about  noon,  Tom  entered, 
flung  a  copy  of  the  Globe-Express  on  the 
counter,  pointed  a  grimy  finger  to  a  certain 
item,  and,  without  a  word  of  comment,  re- 
tired through  the  doorway  of  the  shop. 

Comment  was,  indeed,  superfluous.  John 
picked  up  the  paper  and  read  the  explanation 
easily  enough. 

The  paragraph  was  a  brief  one  in  the 
day's  summary  of  society  news.  It  read : 

"Announcement  is  made  of  the  engage- 
ment of  Miss  Phyllis  Gwynne  to  Mr.  Mars- 
den  Payne.  Miss  Gwynne  is  one  of  the  most 
charming  of  this  season's  debutantes,  and  the 
first  to  fall  captive  to  the  wiles  of  the  little 
god.  She  is  the  daughter  and  only  child  of 
William  Stuyvesant  Logan  Gwynne.  Mr. 
Payne  is  also  a  member  of  one  of  the  city's 
292 


THE  KISS  OF  DEATH 

best-known  families,  and  is  a  man  of  inde- 
pendent fortune." 

John  laid  down  the  paper  and  turned 
from  its  vulgar  phrasing  to  measure  five 
cents'  worth  of  tea  for  a  fat  negress.  He 
was  pleased  to  note  that  his  hand  was  quite 
steady. 

It  remained  so  all  day.  He  worked  hard, 
but  in  a  dream,  and  when  he  went  home  he 
was  tired  out — too  tired  to  be  able  to  rouse 
himself  to  the  unreasonable  torture  which  he 
knew  was  awaiting  the  return  of  a  clearer, 
consciousness. 

It  was  bitter  cold,  a  night  in  early  Febru- 
ary, when  the  winter,  as  if  angered  by  its  en- 
forced tardiness,  had  settled  calmly  down  to 
do  its  worst.  Haig's  teeth  were  chattering  as 
he  entered  the  garret.  The  sloping  roof  al- 
lowed of  an  upright  position  along  but  one 
side  of  the  room.  There  stood  his  camp-bed. 
Newton  had  insisted  upon  sleeping  at  the 
other  side  by  the  draughty  bit  of  a  window 
let  into  the  bare  bricks  close  to  the  floor, 
where  he  had  to  take  his  clothes  off  while  in 
a  sitting  posture.  His  own  clothes  John  was 
293 


THE  THINGS  THAT  ARE  OESAK'S 

just  then  too  tired  to  take  off  at  all.  He 
would  rest  awhile,  he  said,  and  undress  later. 
He  rolled  up  his  shabby  coat  and  placed  it  by 
the  window  to  protect  Newton,  when  he 
should  turn  in,  from  the  air  that  swept 
through  the  crazy  frame.  Then  he  drew  the 
blanket  about  him,  blew  out  the  ill-smelling 
lamp  that  stood  on  the  floor  by  his  pillow, 
and,  before  he  knew  it,  had  fallen  into  an  un- 
easy doze. 

He  was  awakened  by  the  cold.  The  first 
suspicion  of  morning  light  was  already  frost- 
ily quivering  through  the  garret,  but  so  un- 
certainly that  he  was  more  confused  than  if 
he  had  opened  his  eyes  upon  complete  dark- 
ness. He  could  just  make  out  that  Newton's 
bed  was  still  empty,  and  he  was  vaguely  wor- 
ried. He  was  chilled  to  the  bone  and  hungry, 
but  too  sleepy  to  get  up. 

For  some  time  he  lay  thus.  Then  there 
was  a  sound  of  footsteps  on  the  perilous 
stairs.  The  sounds  were  hurried  and  uncer- 
tain ;  strange,  too,  they  seemed,  and  cautious. 
He  lay  with  half -closed  eyes,  tensely  alarmed. 

The  door  opened  and  a  figure  stole  in.  It 
294 


THE  KISS  OF  DEATH 

was  an  unfamiliar,  wilted  sort  of  a  figure, 
bent  double  and  breathing  hard.  But  he 
knew  it  for  Tom's.  It  took  a  tip-toeing  step 
into  the  room,  paused,  turned,  bolted  the 
door,  and  then  dragged  itself  towards  the 
bed  with  a  strange  shambling  movement. 
Haig  concluded  that  Newton  must  be  drunk. 

John  had  never  seen  him  thus  before, 
and  understood,  therefore,  the  other's  clumsy 
attempts  at  getting  to  bed  unobserved.  He 
wondered  how  often  this  had  happened  of 
late,  but  he  resolved  that  the  etiquette  of 
the  under-world  would  rule  against  the  un- 
fair advantage  of  even  unintentional  eaves- 
dropping, and  so  he  lay  quiet. 

Newton  sank  upon  the  cold  floor,  his  head 
fallen  among  the  scant  covers  of  his  mattress. 
For  some  time  he  lay  thus,  and  John  was  just 
considering  whether  or  no  to  get  up  and  un- 
dress him  when  the  man  began  that  operation 
for  himself,  in  an  awkward  position,  slowly 
and  with  many  groans.  Once  he  cried  out, 
an  odd,  sharp  cry,  and  again  there  was  a 
sound  as  if  a  shirt  were  being  torn,  a  bit 
at  a  time.  At  last  Newton  tumbled  over 
295 


THE  THINGS  THAT  ARE  CESAR'S 

on  the  mattress,  the  operation  evidently 
complete. 

There  was  a  long  period  of  silence,  broken 
only  by  the  hard,  repressed,  but  tolerably 
regular  breathing  of  Newton.  John  tried  to 
go  to  sleep  once  more,  but  there  seemed  now 
to  be  something  that  laid  its  fingers  on  his 
eyelids  and  held  them  inexorably  open.  It 
seemed  to  him  that  the  room  had  grown  still 
colder,  that  some  power  was  keeping  the 
dawn  in  leash,  and,  chilly  as  was  the  atmos- 
phere, it  grew  also  uncannily  oppressive. 

"John!" 

It  was  Newton's  own  voice,  thinned  a 
trifle,  but  so  familiar  that  Haig  leaped  half 
out  of  bed.  His  heart  beat  violently,  and 
a  dampness  broke  out  upon  the  palms  of 
his  hands.  Yet  he  managed  to  control  his 
voice. 

"What  is  it!  "he  asked. 

"  Light  the  lamp,  please." 

Never  thinking  of  the  strangeness  of  the 
request,  he  obeyed,  and  rose  expectant  of  he 
knew  not  what. 

"  Leave  it  there,"  continued  that  odd 
296 


THE  KISS  OF  DEATH 

voice.  "  I  don't  want  the  light  in  my  eyes, 
but  I  want  to  see  you.  Come  over  here  and 
sit  down  where  I  can.  Look  out  for  your 
head!  That's  it.  I  want  to  tell  you  some- 
thing." 

John  crawled  to  the  pallet-side  and  curled 
up  on  the  bare,  rat-eaten  floor,  shivering  with 
the  cold.  He  sat  facing  Newton,  and  could 
just  make  out  the  fellow's  features,  which 
seemed  peaked  more  than  ever  before,  and 
very  pale  in  the  half-light  of  the  dawn.  Then 
he  glanced  at  the  outline  of  the  figure  be- 
neath the  light  covers  and  shivered,  not  from 
the  cold.  There  was  something  unnatural 
about  the  thing  and  the  way  the  clothes  clung 
to  it. 

"  Look  at  me — up  here,"  commanded 
Newton  promptly. 

John  obeyed,  wondering,  alarmed. 

"What's  the  trouble!"  he  asked. 

"  I'm  sick." 

John  started  to  rise. 

"  I'll  get  a  doctor,"  he  said. 

"  Sit  down,"  said  Newton  for  all  reply, 
and  there  was  that  as  of  some  greater  knowl- 
20  297 


THE  THINGS  THAT  ABE  C^ESAK'S 

edge  in  the  way  he  said  it.  Only  when  Haig 
resumed  his  former  position  did  the  man  re- 
lax enough  from  his  accustomed  surly  tone 
to  add :  "  You  won't  do  anything  of  the 
damned  kind.  No  doctors  for  me." 

"  But  what  is  the  trouble  ? "  John  man- 
aged to  persist. 

"  I'm  done." 

"Done?" 

"  Yes,  done — cleaned  out — goin'  t'  hand  in 
my  checks — goin'  t'  croak." 

He  spoke  with  an  impersonal  aloofness 
such  as  a  hospital  surgeon  uses  of  a  pauper 
patient. 

Again  Haig  tried  to  remonstrate. 

"  Nonsense,"  he  said.  "  But  if  you  really 
feel  bad,"  he  added,  "  you  must  let  me  get  a 
doctor." 

"  Nothin'  of  th'  kind,  I  tell  you.  Say,  see 
here;  I've  done  a  couple  o'  little  favours  for 
you,  haven't  I?  " 

John  nodded. 

"  Well,  then,  do  this  for  me.  I'm  tellin' 
you  straight  that  no  doctor  could  do  anythin' 
for  me — an'  the  less  o'  one  we  have  about 
298 


THE  KISS  OF  DEATH 

here  the  better  for  both  o'  us.    Gimme  your 
hand." 

He  stretched  out  a  thin,  bloodless  palm 
that  looked,  in  the  twilight,  queer  and  new 
and  weak.  It  was  almost  a  woman's  hand — 
or  a  child's — but,  when  John's  met  it,  the 
supple  fingers  closed  on  his  like  a  vise,  and 
held  him  so  tightly  that  he  nearly  screamed. 

"  There,"  remarked  Newton  more  com- 
posedly. "  Now  if  you  go  you've  got  to  drag 
me  along  with  you." 

"  But  what's  the  matter?  "  cried  John  for 
the  third  time.  "  What  is  it!  " 

"Will  you  promise  not  to  go  for  a  doc- 
tort" 

"  Why  should  I  promise!  " 

"  That's  why,"  said  Newton,  and  gave  a 
twist  to  the  arm  that  made  John  drive  his 
teeth  into  his  lip  to  keep  from  shrieking. 

"  Oh,  I  promise !  "  he  wailed. 

"  On  your  honour!  " 

"  Yes,  yes.    Let  go !  " 

Newton  dropped  the  arm  and  fell  back  for 
a  moment  or  two,  too  weak  to  speak.  At  last 
he  muttered: 

299 


THE  THINGS  THAT  AEE  CAESAR'S 

"  I  fell  and  twisted  something  or  other 
inside  of  me.  I've  done  it  once  or  twice  be- 
fore, and  the  doctor  himself  said  he'd  be  no 
good  next  time.  So  there  ain't  no  use  of  any 
medicine  now.  I  know  what  I'm  talkin' 
about.  A  man  knows,  I  guess,  when  it  gets 
to  be  the  real  thing.  I  know  better  than  you, 
anyhow;  it's  not  you  that's  croakin',  it's  me." 

Again  John  shivered. 

"  Let  me  go !  "  he  begged. 

"No.  Didn't  you  promise  me?  You've 
given  me  your  word  you  wouldn't  go,  an'  now 
I'll  give  you  mine  it  wouldn't  be  no  use — not 
the  least.  Don't  you  suppose  I'd  have  you  go 
in  a  minute  if  it  was !  " 

"But  you  might  be  mistaken;  you  must 
be!" 

He  clung  to  the  desperate  hope  of  it,  but 
Newton  was  firm  with  the  firmness  of  the 
sick. 

"  Eot !  "  he  snapped.  "  I  guess  I  know,  I 
tell  you.  The  other  doctor  said,  anyhow, 
there  wasn't  anything  to  do  but  lay  still." 

They  remained  there  quiet  again  for 
a  while.  Then — 

300 


THE  KISS  OF  DEATH 

"Guess  you'd  better  put  that  light  out," 
said  Newton.  "  Daylight's  a-comin'." 

It  was  coming  at  last,  very  slowly  as  yet, 
but  surely,  almost  implacably.  John  blew  out 
the  lamp  with  a  great  blast  of  steaming 
breath,  and  returned  to  his  place  at  the  bed. 
The  pale,  cold  light  stole  in  through  the 
frosted  pane  and  gradually,  gradually,  like 
the  remorseless,  careful  artist  that  it  is, 
drew  the  picture  of  Newton's  face  upon  the 
pillow. 

It  was  a  new  face  to  John,  as  he  had  ex- 
pected, like  yet  unlike  the  one  which  he  had 
known  through  the  worst  of  his  troubles, 
which  had  always  been,  present  or  remem- 
bered, with  him  in  these  latter  days,  rough, 
but  sincere  and — he  knew  it  now — loved. 
But  this  face  was  not  rough.  The  coarse 
lines  were  softened;  they  vanished  as  he 
looked,  and  in  their  place  there  grew  upward 
another  set,  a  sketch  in  charcoal  and  Chinese 
white,  a  thin,  refined  face  that  might,  he 
thought,  have  been  that  of  a  gentleman,  but 
a  face,  nevertheless,  that  bore  plainly  the 
vindication  of  its  owner's  diagnosis. 
301 


THE  THINGS  THAT  AEE  CESAR'S 

Haig  watched  it  fascinated,  silent.  The 
great,  calm  eyes  looked  back  at  him  from  out 
of  deep  bluish  shadows.  They  understood 
him,  read  him,  but  they  did  not  waver,  and 
he,  for  his  part,  could  not  shift  his  gaze. 

The  man  was  going  to  die — this  man, 
whose  living  hand  he  held,  whom  he  had 
known  so  briefly  but  so  intimately,  whom  he 
had  caught  a  glimpse  of  so  short  a  time  ago 
in  the  very  flower  of  health.  Death  was  new 
to  John.  When  his  father  died  far  away 
from  him  he  had  felt  its  touch,  but  its  con- 
summation, and  far  less  its  approach,  he  had 
never  before  witnessed.  He  could  not  now 
realize  it.  He  felt  that  something  was  ex- 
pected of  him,  something  sudden,  large,  melo- 
dramatic, but  he  could  not  in  any  way  rise  to 
the  situation.  He  was  devoured  only  by  an 
awesome  curiosity.  What  was  this  presence  I 
How,  he  wondered,  did  it  feel  to  die?  Must 
he  some  day  lie  thus  and  wait  it,  and  did  all 
men  wait  it  thus  easily?  He  gripped  the 
bedclothes.  He  tried  to  steady  himself,  to 
concentrate  his  thought  to  action  upon  some 
little  kindly  ministration,  but  in  vain.  He 
302 


THE  KISS  OF  DEATH 

trembled  at  the  blasphemous  impudence  of 
his  wonder,  but  he  could  not  check  it. 

"  Give  me  your  hand  again,"  said  Newton 
at  last. 

John  obeyed  quaking,  and  realizing  that 
he  feared  this  thing  which  was  occurring. 

"  Don't  be  afraid,"  Newton  smilingly  pro- 
tested in  a  thin  but  normal  tone.  "  I  won't 
twist  it  this  time."  Then,  as  they  touched 
hands :  "  We've  been  pretty  good  friends, 
sort  of,  haven't  we  ?  "  he  asked. 

John  nodded  with  an  unfamiliar  gravity. 

"  We're  not  the  same  sort,"  Newton  went 
on,  "  an'  we  haven't  seen  as  much  of  each 
other  as  girls  would,  but  we've  hit  it  off 
pretty  well,  eh?  " 

Voice  and  words  were  almost  cheerful, 
but  in  the  eyes  John  caught  the  fleeting  shad- 
ow of  a  timid,  questioning  love.  To  his  own 
eyes  the  tears  sprang  with  a  rush  of  selfish 
relief.  His  shoulders  shook  with  the  sobs. 

"  Oh,  don't  do  that,"  protested  Newton, 
with  real  feeling.  Then,  more  sharply,  "  Cut 
it  out,  I  say,"  he  added,  "  or  I'll  just  keep 
quiet." 

303 


THE  THINGS  THAT  ARE  CAESAR'S 

Haig  managed  so  far  to  master  himself  as 
to  check  the  convulsions,  but,  as  Newton 
calmly,  objectively  continued,  the  tears  went 
on  flowing  freely  and  unheeded. 

"  Men  are  different  from  girls,  I  guess, 
about  them  things,"  Tom  reflectively  pur- 
sued. "  They  don't  somehow  feel  the  same.  I 
b'lieve  women  show  it  more  an'  don't  feel  it 
as  much.  I'll  tell  you  what  it  is,  John,  I  don't 
think,  when  it  comes  to  big  things,  that  wom- 
en counts." 

Haig  saw  the  rude  comfort  so  barely  con- 
cealed, and  acknowledged  it  with  a  renewed 
pressure  of  his  fingers. 

"  They  don't  count,"  repeated  Newton 
wisely.  "  I've  known  'em — lots  of  'em — all 
kinds.  I've  loved  one  of  'em.  You  mightn't 
b'lieve  it,  but  I  have — loved  her  just  as  hard 
as  you  could.  An'  I'd  have  done  anythin'  to 
have  had  her  with  me  any  time  up  t'  yester- 
day, but — I'm  givin'  it  t'  you  straight,  s'  help 
me  God,  I  am — I  wouldn't  want  her  now. 
Girls  don't  understand  an'  men  do.  That's 
the  dif'rence.  Women'll  laugh  a  lot  or  cry 
a  lot — bless  'em! — but  they  just  don't  know, 
304 


THE  KISS  OF  DEATH 

an*  what  a  fellow  wants  is  some  one  that 
knows — see!  Women  don't  size  up  to  th'  big 
things,  an'  I  wouldn't  trade  mine  for — say 
you — to  die  alongside  of." 

A  slight  spasm  shot  through  him  and  dis- 
torted his  mouth,  but  before  John  could  in- 
terpose a  question  he  was  speaking  easily 
once  more. 

"  Now,"  he  said,  "  what  you  want  t'  do  is 
t'  find  another  friend  an'  another  woman.  It 
may  be  hard  t'  find  the  friend,  but  there 
won't  be  no  trouble  'bout  the  woman.  You're 
a  good  fellow  an'  can  do  it,  easy  enough. 
Women  like  you,  an'  they're  all  alike,  ev'ry 
one  o'  'em — take  my  word  for  it.  It's  women 
a  man  loves,  but  it  ain't  so  much  men  that  he 
likes ;  it's  a  man. 

"  I  ain't  goin'  t'  talk  about  how  much  I'm 
obliged  t'  you,"  he  pursued,  "  for  all  you've 
done  for  me.  Don't  say  No ;  I  ain't  a-goin'  t' 
talk  about  it.  What's  the  good?  I  tried  t' 
get  a  graft  so's  I  could  help  pay  it  all  back, 
but  first  you  wouldn't  let  me,  an'  now  I'm  up 
against  it  with  a  '  thank  you  very  kindly ' — 
an'  that's  all.  I  ain't  no  hand  at  preachin', 
305 


THE  THINGS  THAT  ARE  CESAR'S 

neither,  an'  I  never  did  take  stock  in  fellows 
that  got  good  when  they  came  to  croak,  but 
there's  one  thing  I've  been  thinkin'  a  hell  of 
a  lot  about  for  a  good  while,  an'  meant  to  tell 
you  before.  I  couldn't  then,  but  somehow 
things  seems  different  now.  It's  this :  We've 
thought  it  was  hard  lines  for  'em  t'  send  us 
up  an'  then  treat  us  as  if  we  hadn't  squared 
ourselves.  But  I've  got  t'  thinkin'  the  trou- 
ble's in  us.  I  believe  you  may  go  to  jail  till 
you  rot,  but  you  ain't  square  till  you're 
sorry." 

A  shaft  of  anaemic  sunlight  shot  its 
startled  way  into  the  room,  and  Newton  sat 
half-way  up  in  bed. 

"  There,"  he  said  reproachfully,  "  I'm 
keepin'  you  from  your  work.  There  was  a 
lot  I  wanted  to  say  along  that  line,  an'  there 
was  something  about  what  I  wanted  you  to 
do — afterward.  But  I'm  forgettin',  an', 
anyhow,  you  must  get  to  the  store  now." 

John  thrust  an  arm  about  his  friend — an 
arm,  on  the  instant,  firm  enough. 

"Why,"  he  protested,   "you  don't  sup- 
pose, do  you,  I'd  leave  you  now?" 
306 


THE  KISS  OF  DEATH 

"  Sure,"  said  Newton  cheerfully. 
"  Work's  work.  It's  got  to  be  done  whoever 
lives  or  dies.  You've  had  a  hard  enough  time 
gettin'  this  job.  You  mustn't  lose  it  now. 
That  old  Jew's  a  screw — an'  I  guess  just  at 
the  last  a  fellow  doesn't  know  whether  he's 
alone  or  not.  Let  me  lie  back  again." 

"  I  won't  go,"  said  John. 

"  You  must,"  persisted  Newton. 

He  spoke  with  vigour,  and  then,  as  if  con- 
sequent upon  the  effort,  as  if  even  in  this  he 
wished  to  serve  his  friend,  the  end  came  sud- 
denly. Another  spasm  contorted  the  face. 
The  man  struggled  again  to  a  sitting  posture. 
He  gasped  for  breath.  But  he  brushed  aside 
impatiently  John's  proffered  support,  and, 
panting  loudly,  held  out  his  hand. 

Haig  gripped  it. 

"  Good-bye,"  said  Newton. 

John's  dry  lips  moved  noiselessly. 

Newton  tried  to  smile,  but  his  face  was 
twisted  like  a  gargoyle's.  His  eyes  closed, 
snapped  open,  stared.  His  jaw  fell,  his  knees 
shot  upward  beneath  the  covers.  A  little 
line  of  dark  crimson  appeared  at  the  pale 
307 


THE  THINGS  THAT  AEE  C^ESAK'S 

corners  of  his  mouth ;  it  overflowed  upon  his 
chin.  There  was  a  furtive  movement  of  the 
free  hand;  the  grasp  of  the  other  tightened 
in  a  sudden  mighty  clinch  that  made  John 
yell  with  pain.  And  with  that  cry  ringing 
among  the  low  rafters,  Tom  Newton  col- 
lapsed gently,  almost  slowly,  upon  his  pillow. 
However  ignorant  a  man  may  be  of  death, 
he  knows  it  when  he  sees  it,  and  John,  after 
one  moment  of  suspense,  closed  the  horrid, 
empty  eyes.  Then  he  drew  back  the  blanket 
to  compose  the  dead  man's  limbs,  and,  in  so 
doing,  wrenched  a  rough  bandage  and  dis- 
closed a  blue-black  bullet-hole  in  Newton's 
breast. 


308 


XXII 

THE  GRATITUDE   OF  KINGS 

As  he  stood  there  horror-stricken  there 
came  loud  steps  upon  the  stair  and  a  hurried 
rattling  at  the  door. 

John  dropped  the  blanket  like  one  de- 
tected in  a  murder.  Instinctively  he  shrank 
into  a  corner,  but,  as  the  rattling  continued, 
he  speedily  realized  that  the  panels  could 
offer  no  lasting  resistance  to  attack,  and  at 
once  strode  forward  and  slipped  back  the 
bolt. 

"  Ricker !  "  he  exclaimed. 

"  What's  left ! "  panted  the  nearly  ex- 
hausted reporter,  flashing  his  teeth  in  a  ner- 
vous grin.  "  I've  got  bad  news  for  you."  He 
came  a  step  into  the  room.  "  What's  that?  " 
he  cried  suddenly,  pointing  to  the  thing  upon 
the  bed.  But  then,  turning  as  quickly, 
"  Never  mind,"  he  added,  "  I'd  better  not 
know.  I'm  running  enough  risks  as  it  is." 
309 


THE  THINGS  THAT  ABE  CESAR'S 

"  But  what's  the  news?  "  asked  John,  once 
more  a-tremble. 

"  Been  doin'  police.  Early  this  morning 
heard  a  job  I  thought  you  might  be  mixed 
up  in  from  what  they  said  at  the  Front,  an' 
been  hunting  you  ever  since." 

"A  job?" 

"  Sure.  Oh,  for  Heaven's  sake  don't  try  a 
bluff  now !  You  haven't  time." 

"But  what  was  it !" 

"  That  stiff  of  a  sexton  you  were  mixed  up 
with  was  recognised  robbin'  a  house — just 
as  I  was  quittin'  work  at  Central  Station  the 
news  came  in — an'  it  was  Billy  Gwynne's 
house,  an'  old  Gwynne  blazed  a  hole  into  him. 
Billy  somehow  recognised  him.  He  got  away, 
but  he  left  a  lot  of  blood." 

"My  God!" 

John  spoke  in  a  slow,  toneless  bewilder- 
ment. He  sank  into  a  corner  with  his  face 
towards  the  wall. 

But  Jimmy  was  in  no  mood  for  this. 

"  Here,  here ! "  he  cried,  striking  Haig 
sharply  upon  the  back.  "  This  won't  do ; 
there  ain't  time,  I  tell  you!  If  I  can  find 
310 


THE  GRATITUDE  OF  KINGS 

where  this  fellow  lived,  you  can  gamble  on 
it  the  cops  can,  too." 

John  turned  with  a  vacant,  stupid  gaze. 

"What  shall  I  dot"  he  asked  mechani- 
cally. 

"  Get  out,"  snapped  Ricker  succinctly. 
"  Get  out  right  away.  Where's  your  coat  I 
Got  any  stuff  here  to  leave  a  track  of  you  I  " 

His  tone  at  last  moved  Haig  to  nervous 
action.  For  an  instant  he  was  his  old  self. 

"  Stand  outside,"  he  ordered ;  and  then,  as 
Jimmy,  nothing  loath,  started  to  obey,  he 
added  upon  quick  second  thought,  "  Here.  I 
guess  you'd  better  not  be  seen  leaving  with 
me.  You'd  better  go.  You've  done  a  sight 
more  already  than  I  could  have  asked  of  you. 
I  hadn't  anything  to  do  with  this,  but  that 
won't  matter  as  long  as  it  looks  as  if  I  had. 
You've  been — you've  been  a  trump.  But  I 
can't  thank  you  now — for  your  own  sake. 
Good-bye." 

There  was  a  quick  grasping  of  cold  hands, 
and  then  Ricker  fled. 

John  hurried  about  the  room,  dumped 
most  of  his  belongings  into  the  rude  fire- 
311 


THE  THINGS  THAT  ABE  CESAR'S 

place  and  set  a  match  to  them,  paused  a  mo- 
ment gently  to  tie  a  bandage  about  his  dead 
friend's  stiffened  jaw  and  then,  with  one  last 
quick  look  at  the  gruesome  result,  drew  -the 
blanket  over  the  face  and  ran  down  the 
stairs. 

But  he  was  not  running  away.  There  had 
burst  up  in  his  breast  what  he  knew  now  to 
be  the  last  flame  for  justice.  He  would  make 
one  more  appeal  to  the  fates,  and  by  their 
decision  he  would  abide. 

He  had  been  cool  enough  to  thrust  into 
his  pocket  a  document — Gwynne's  letter  to 
Elridge  that  Newton  had  given  him — which, 
rightly  used,  might  still  prove  his  salvation. 
Had  he  had  time  to  reflect,  he  might  not 
greatly  have  cared  to  be  saved,  but  the  climax 
had  all  been  so  sudden  and  so  startling  as  to 
obliterate  the  artificial  self  from  his  mental 
tablets  and  to  leave  only  the  primeval  in- 
stincts in  action. 

He  made  straight  for  Gwynne's  office,  and 

not  until  he  had  rattled  vainly  at  the  door  did 

he  realize  how  young  the  day  still  was.    But 

even  then  he  did  not  hesitate.    He  went  at 

312 


THE  GRATITUDE  OF  KINGS 

once  to  the  house  and  sent  up  his  own  name 
— "  on  important  business." 

He  waited  an  unconscionable  time  in  the 
familiar  reception-room,  but  the  place  was  so 
strange  and  tawdry  to  him  in  the  morning 
light,  and  his  present  emotions  were  so 
strong,  that  he  could  scarce  recognise  and 
much  less  associate  it  in  memory  with  the 
scenes  of  his  immediate  past. 

He  was  pacing  the  room  like  a  caged  lion, 
filled  with  every  sort  of  fear,  anger,  and  im- 
patience, when  at  last  he  caught  a  sound  in 
the  hallway  and  turned  just  in  time  to  con- 
front the  immaculate  politician. 

"  Mr.  Haig,"  cried  this  person,  beaming 
with  the  proper  pleasure.  "  I  am  delighted." 

He  advanced  smiling,  suave,  and,  as  ever, 
self-contained. 

"  Thank  you,"  said  John,  as  he  shrunk 
from  the  hand  and  sank  into  the  seat  which 
Gwynne  rather  ceremoniously  offered  him. 
He  felt  coursing  through  his  veins  a  novel 
sort  of  desperate  courage,  given  its  being  by 
the  very  manner  of  the  man,  and  he  rushed, 
therefore,  at  once  to  the  point.  "I  hope 
21  313 


THE  THINGS  THAT  ABE  CESAR'S 

you'll  be  as  pleased  at  the  end  of  this  in- 
terview as  you  are  now,"  he  continued. 
"  I've  come,  you  see,  on  another  delicate 
mission." 

Grwynne  raised  a  pair  of  politely  puzzled 
eyebrows. 

"  Delicate  missions,"  he  ventured,  "  seem 
rather — if  I  may  say  so — in  your  line,  Mr. 
Haig." 

"  Perhaps,"  John  grimly  admitted.  "  But 
this  one's  more  than  commonly  important. 
I've  got  a  lot  to  say,  but  I'll  be  just  as  brief 
as  I  can,  and  I  beg  that  you'll  try  to  be  pa- 
tient. On  my  part  I  won't  take  up  a  minute 
more  of  your  time  than  I  can  help.  I'm 
threatened,  I've  got  to  tell  you,  with  a  very 
serious  charge,  a  charge  that  you  can  pre- 
vent, and  that  you,  better  than  anybody  else, 
ought  to  know  I'm  in  no  way  guilty  of.  I 
want  you  to  recollect  all  that  you  know  of  me. 
I  want  you  to  remember,  in  short,  the  time  I 
visited  you  in  your  office  and  how  I  refused 
any  of  the — rewards,  I  believe  you  called 
them — which  you  offered  me.  And  I  want 
finally  to  ask  you  if  you  don't  think  that  was 
314 


THE  GRATITUDE  OF  KINGS 

the  act  of  an  honest  man  put  to  a  supreme 
testt" 

Gwynne  twirled  his  glasses  about  upon  a 
wide  black  tape. 

"  My  dear  sir,"  he  began,  "  there  was 
never  any  question  of " 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Gwynne,"  broke  in  John,  "  let's 
dispense  with  all  that!  We're  both  men  of 
the  world  and  can  talk  to  each  other  as  such. 
If  there  wasn't  then  any  question  of  my  hon- 
esty, there's  a  mighty  big  one  now  that  you'll 
be  shortly  called  upon  to  answer.  With  one 
word  you  can  answer  it  and  quiet  the  whole 
matter." 

"  I  have  not,"  the  politician  assured  him, 
"  the  remotest  idea  of  what  you're  pleased  to 
refer  to." 

John,  regarding  him  sharply,  was  con- 
vinced. 

"Very  well,"  he  granted  with  an  effort. 
"Then  I'll  tell  you.  It's  this:  Last  night 
your  house  was  entered  by  a  burglar,  a  man 
who  is  well  known  to  the  police  and  has  at 
least  once  before  served  time  for  a  somewhat 
similar  offence.  You  shot  him  and  hit.  He 
315 


THE  THINGS  THAT  AEE  CESAR'S 

managed  to  get  away  and  return  to  his  lodg- 
ings. He  thought  he  was  unobserved,  but  he 
was  mistaken,  and  he  will  undoubtedly  be 
traced  to  his  living-place.  That  place  he 
shared  with  me.  I  won't  tell  you  why,  or 
what  I  thought  of  this  man  and  still  think 
of  him.  I  only  want  you  to  say — what  I'm 
sure  you  must  be  certain  of — that  I  was  in 
no  way  concerned  in  this  or  any  other  of  the 
man's  crimes." 

Gwynne  was  listening  with  a  surprise 
clearly  unassumed.  At  the  end  he  had  but 
one  awed  comment  to  offer: 

"  Great  Lord !  "  he  gasped,  "  you  don't 
mean  to  say  you're  going  to  give  him  up  I " 

John  clinched  his  hands ;  his  eyes  flashed. 

"  Hardly !  "  he  thundered,  and  then,  as  a 
look  of  frank  relief  overspread  the  features 
of  the  politician,  he  added :  "  I  suppose  I 
ought  to  tell  you  that  I  couldn't  give  him  up 
even  if  I  wanted  to." 

"  Has  he  skipped  ?  "  asked  Gwynne. 

"  He  is  dead,"  said  John. 

Gwynne' s  mouth  opened  to  form  a  sudden 
question,  and  then  stiffened.  His  eyes  grew 
316 


THE  GRATITUDE  OF  KINGS 

wide  in  fright.  He  passed  a  hand  across 
them  and  took  a  few  nervous  turns  up  and 
down  the  room.  At  the  end  of  his  walk  he 
stopped  short  before  John's  chair,  his  hands 
clasped  behind  his  back.  His  face  was  vis- 
ibly softened. 

"  Mr.  Haig,"  he  began,  "  I  don't  mind  tell- 
ing you  that  you've  gone  up  in  my  opinion 
several  pegs.  I  generally  know  men,  and 
when  you  sprang  this  story  on  me  I  really 
thought  for  a  minute  that  you  were  here  to 
peach.  I  can't  tell  you  how  relieved  I  am.  I 
have  to  add  only  one  thing:  of  course  I 
know  I  was  quite  within  my  rights  in  shoot- 
ing this  fellow,  but  it's  a  big  business,  killing 
a  man,  and  if  you  prove  to  be  correct  in  say- 
ing that  he's  really  dead,  why,  naturally,  that 
ends  the  case.  It  would  be  preposterous  to 
suppose  that  you  were  in  any  way  concerned 
in  it." 

John  had  waited  with  head  lowered  and 
teeth  set,  ready  for  a  fight.  As  he  listened 
his  antagonism  fell  from  him,  and,  at  the  con- 
clusion, he  rose,  fumbling  in  his  pockets. 

"  Thank  you,  Mr.  Gwynne,"  he  said.  "  I 
317 


THE  THINGS  THAT  ARE  CESAR'S 

know  what  that  means  you'll  do  at  the  Front. 
There's  no  need  of  the  case  ever  going  past 
the  coroner.  I  guess  I  pretty  generally  mis- 
understood you " 

"  We've  misunderstood  each  other,"  cor- 
rected Gwynne. 

"  Well,  that's  a  pleasant  way  to  put  it. 
At  any  rate,  I  feel  I've  done  you  an  injustice. 
There's  now  no  use  in  concealing  from  you 
that  I  thought  you'd  throw  me  down  on  this 
if  you  could,  and  I'd  come  here  to  fight  you. 
But  you've  been  everything  you  should  be, 
and  I'm  ready  to  hand  over  my  ammunition." 
He  drew  out  a  letter  and  held  it  between  his 
trembling  fingers. — "  We  have  buried  the 
hatchet,  I  take  it  ?  "  he  added. 

Gwynne  spread  out  his  hands. 

"  My  dear  sir !  "  he  sufficiently  exclaimed. 
Then,  for  greater  lucidity :  "  It  remains  only 
for  me  to  call  up  police  headquarters  and 
then  to  give  this  unfortunate  man  a  quiet  and 
decent  burial." 

"  Then,"  said  John,  "  here's  your  letter." 
And  he  prepared  to  leave. 

"  My  letter  ?  "  asked  Gwynne. 
318 


THE  GRATITUDE  OF  KINGS 

He  took  the  note;  recognised  it  with  the 
mere  flutter  of  an  eyelid;  made  sure  by  a 
second  glance  of  its  authenticity;  stowed  it 
hurriedly  away,  and  turned  his  quick  eye 
upon  his  visitor. 

"  I  don't  want  to  keep  you,"  he  apologized, 
"  and  you  mustn't  feel  that  I  consider  I've 
any  great  title  to  ask  you  the  question,  but  I 
should  rather  like  to  know  how  you  came  by 
this." 

"  No  one  else  has  seen  it,"  John  assured 
him.  "It  was  sent  me,  in  return  for  a 
favour,  by  the  man  you  wrote  it  to,  and 
I  think  I  have  a  right  to  do  with  it  as  I 
choose." 

"  Hum.    And  so  you  give  it  to  met " 

Haig  nodded. 

For  another  moment  Gwynne  regarded 
him  in  silence. 

"  Upon  my  soul,"  he  ejaculated,  "  I  don't 
know  you  yet!  But  I'm  sure  of  one  thing, 
you  may  be  certain:  whether  you're  devilish 
good  or  devilish  deep,  I'm  more  obliged  to 
you  than  I  care  to  say,  and  you're,  in  either 
case,  one  of  the  few  kinds  of  men  I  admire 
319 


THE  THINGS  THAT  ARE  CESAR'S 

and  need.  May  I  ask  one  last  favour  of  you, 
then!" 

John  assented. 

"It's  only  to  wait  here  for  ten  minutes. 
I'll  be  back,  no  doubt,  in  really  less  than 
that." 

It  was  a  good  quarter-hour,  however,  be- 
fore he  reappeared,  and  to  John  the  time 
seemed  thrice  that  long.  He  was  at  first  be- 
wildered and  then  suspicious,  but,  just  as  he 
was  making  ready  to  fly,  Gwynne  was  there 
once  more,  a  visible  confutation  of  his  unjust 
doubts. 

"Fm  sorry  to  have  kept  you,"  he  ex- 
plained, "  but  there  were  one  or  two  things 
that  I  had  to  arrange.  Now,  Mr.  Haig,  this 
time  I'm  not  going  to  ask  you  your  price,  but 
I  am  going  to  repeat  that  you've  won  my  ad- 
miration, and  that  you've  honestly  and  hon- 
ourably put  me  so  far  in  your  debt  that  any- 
thing I  can  do  for  you — anything  at  all — 
won't  seem  too  much.  No — don't  speak.  I 
must  hurry  away,  but  you  must  wait  here  a 
little  and  think  it  over.  It's  a  bit  sudden,  I 
know.  I  want  only  to  add  that  I  now  under- 
320 


THE  GRATITUDE  OF  KINGS 

stand  thoroughly  all" — he  spoke  with  be- 
nevolent but  significant  emphasis — "  all  that 
you  want,  and,  as  I've  said,  I  don't  think  you 
can  ask  anything  that  I'll  consider  I  can't 
gladly  do  for  you." 

With  a  rush  of  blood  to  his  face,  with  a 
tingle  of  the  nerves  in  his  finger-tips,  Haig 
took  the  meaning.  He  gasped  at  what  he 
thought  the  monstrosity  of  it,  and,  as  he  won- 
dered open-mouthed,  there  returned  to  him 
the  memory  of  that  paragraph  in  the  paper 
of  the  day  before,  and  the  silent  misery  that 
had  followed  the  sight  of  it.  Then  the  shock 
had  dulled  him,  and  later  the  subsequent 
tragedy  had  forbidden  its  intrusion  into  the 
foreground  of  his  mental  life.  But  now  he 
took,  as  from  afar,  his  whole  view  of  the 
thing;  slowly,  painfully,  but  still  from  afar, 
for  there  was  yet — he  thanked  Heaven — left 
him  this  grain  of  self-respect. 

"  No,  Mr.  Gwynne,"  he  said,  "  no,  thank 
you,  there  is  nothing — nothing  further  which 
you  can  do  for  me." 

But  Gwynne  had  left  the  room. 


321 


XXIII 

PROSPEROUS  ART 

AND  as  Haig  turned  to  hurry  after  the  re- 
treating politician  Phyllis  barred  the  way. 

She  stood  between  the  curtains,  a  hand 
upon  each,  a  pathetic,  white-faced  figure, 
which  nevertheless  looked  him  in  the  eyes 
with  steadfast  appeal. 

John  started  back. 

"  I  heard  you,"  she  explained  in  a  low, 
monotonous  voice. 

"  You  heard  me  ?  "  he  repeated.  "  I — I 
beg  your  pardon.  I  had  no  idea — I  assure 
you  that  I  had  no  idea  at  all " 

"  That  I  was  eavesdropping?  Well,  I 
might  not  call  it  that — but  I  make  no  denials. 
You  spoke  rather  loud —  But  no,  I  don't 
make  denials,  for,  after  all,  what  does  it 
matter  since,  although  I  heard  you,  I  am 
here?" 

322 


PROSPEROUS  ART 

John's  heart  leaped  as  he  regarded  her. 
Love  with  something  that  was  near  kin  to 
hate  fought  for  the  possession  of  him.  All 
his  pent-up  desire  contended  with  his  new- 
born anger  to  drive  him  mad  and  to  force  a 
return  to  the  primeval  manhood. 

"  Then,"  he  said  brutally,  "  if  you  heard 
me,  you  understand  how  I  regard  this  matter 
— you  understand  it  better  than  I  could  tell 
you  to  your  face,  no  doubt,  for,  there's  no 
denying  it,  I'm  still  a  coward." 

As  if  to  ward  away  the  cruelty  of  his  blow 
she  put  up  a  trembling  little  hand. 

"  Don't,"  she  said  feebly,  and  leaned 
against  the  door-post  for  support. 

He  was  still  unappeased. 

"  I  have  spoken,"  he  returned,  "  the 
truth,"  and  added,  somewhat  more  generous- 
ly, "  I'm  sorry  it  hurts  you,  but  that's  usually 
the  way  with  truths.  I  can't  conscientiously 
take  back  one  word  of  it." 

Phyllis  spoke  with  a  slight  return  of 
strength  and  spirit. 

"  I  want  you,"  she  answered  him,  "  I  want 
you  to  listen  to  me.  I'm  not  asking  you  for 
323 


THE  THINGS  THAT  ARE  CESAR'S 

your  mercy.  Don't  suppose  that  I  am.  I  am 
asking  you  only  for  justice " 

"  That's  one  of  the  many  things  that  are 
not  to  be  had  in  this  world,"  growled  John. 

She  did  not  regard  his  reply. 

"  I  know  you've  condemned  me,"  she  hur- 
ried on.  "  I  know  that  you  think  I've  done 
something  wrong,  something  shameful,  and 
I  can  almost  admire  you  for  standing  so  by 
your  colours — but  that  gives  me  all  the  more 
hope  and  right  to  ask  that  you  don't  condemn 
me  unheard." 

John  smiled  grimly. 

"And  I?"  he  cried.  "Who  has  ever 
granted  me  that  right?  Least  of  all  have 
you ! " 

"You  forget,"  she  replied  steadily. 
"  That  is  just  the  point.  You  had  a  thou- 
sand chances  and  took  none  of  them." 

He  brushed  aside  her  argument  with  a 
gesture  of  impatience. 

"Where's  the  use  of  talking  any  more 
about  it?"  he  asked.  "Can't  you  see  that 
we'll  never  understand  each  other  ? " 

"Perhaps,"  she  granted  him.  "But  at 
324 


PROSPEROUS  ART 

all  events  I'm  going  to  give  you  the  oppor- 
tunity to  understand  me.  You  may  not  care 
anything  about  me — I  don't  see  how  you 
could  care  and  lie — but  I'm  not  going  to  have 
you  think  that  I'm  guilty  of — of  what  you 
think  me  guilty  of." 

"  That's  a  woman  forever,"  he  replied. 
"  They  must  eternally  associate  confidence 
with  love.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  love  has  no 
more  to  do  with  confidence  than  it  has  to  do 
with  politics." 

"  Confidence  is  indispensable,  at  all 
events,  to  happy  love." 

"  Happy  love !  "  he  retorted.  "  How  could 
I  know  anything  about  that!  From  my  ex- 
perience I  should  say  that  love  had  about  as 
much  to  do  with  happiness  as  it  has  with 
confidence." 

"  Just  so  much." 

"  Well,  perhaps  you  know — now.  What  I 
am  sure  of  is  that  it  has  nothing  to  do  with 
truth.  And  I  know  that  because,  as  you 
stand  there  now,  I  love  you !  " 

"  Then,"  she  cried,  "  you  can  understand ! 
Can't  you  see  how  it  was?  The  first  shock 
325 


THE  THINGS  THAT  AKE  CESAR'S 

to  me  really  was  that  you  had  deceived  me.  I 
couldn't  think  that  it  was  true  till  you  con- 
fessed it  yourself,  but  then  the  shock  was 
that  you  had  kept  it  all  from  me,  while  you 
were  saying  with  the  same  breath  that  you 
loved  me.  It  was  more  than  wrong,  too,  it 
was  foolish,  for,  as  you  see  now,  I  might 
have  saved  you  everything.  But,  above  all, 
it  was  wrong,  and  that  is  what  I  first  felt. 
Later  you  were  away  again.  Nobody  knew 
where  you  were,  and  I  knew  only  that  you'd 
gone  away  saying  that  you  didn't  care  any- 
thing about  me.  When  you  could  deceive  me, 
I  said,  you  couldn't  love  me.  I  only  took  you 
at  your  own  word,  and  so  I  was  the  readier 
to  accept  the  position  of  all  the  world.  It's 
only  what  I've  been  brought  up  to.  Can't 
you  see  what  it  means'?  I  did  come  then  to 
think  that  you  were  bad,  and  that  I  could 
never  love  you  again." 

She  had  taken  a  step  forward  towards 
him  and  was  pleading  with  an  ingenuous 
grace,  enhanced  not  a  little  by  the  fact  that 
as  yet  she  was  utterly  unconscious  that  it 
was  indeed  love  and  not  justice  that  she  was 
326 


PROSPEROUS  ART 

asking.  She  hesitated  an  instant  and  then 
pursued : 

"  I  was  wild  with  grief.  I  didn't  go  out 
to  lots  of  places  that  I  should  have  gone  to, 
and  I  cried  myself  to  sleep  night  after  night. 
Then  Marsden  Payne  told  me  that  he  loved 
me.  I've  known  him  ever  since  I  was  a  little 
bit  of  a  girl,  and  I  was  crazy  with  grief  and 
pride.  I  think  what  I  most  wanted  was  to 
have  people  believe  I  didn't  care,  and  so  I — I 
took  him." 

John  had  been  listening  with  the  mixed 
feelings  which  had  assumed  possession  of 
him  upon  this  first  new  sight  of  her,  but,  as 
she  proceeded,  the  pity  that  is  the  better  part 
of  love  for  women  had  gradually  overcome 
the  pride  which  is  the  larger  portion  of  all 
anger.  He  was  ready  to  surrender  complete- 
ly when  she  mentioned  the  name  of  Payne. 
At  that  he  stiffened  into  rebuke. 

"Well,"  he  said  conclusively,  "you've 
taken  him." 

She  looked  into  his  unyielding  eyes  and, 
with  a  little  stifled  sob,  flung  herself  upon  his 
breast.  Her  pride,  which  had  served  her  so 
327 


THE  THINGS  THAT  ARE  CESAR'S 

ill  so  long  to  deceive  herself,  could  not  last 
in  his  sight. 

"  John,  John !  "  she  cried.  "  Forgive  me  I 
Please,  please  forgive  me!  I  wasn't  going 
to  tell  you — ever — but  I  no  sooner  said  *  Yes  > 
to  him  than  I  knew  it  was  only  you — that  it 
never,  never,  could  be  anybody  else  as  long 
as  the  world  lasts  1 " 

She  threw  her  arms  about  his  neck,  but 
Haig,  although  he  shook  with  inward  strug- 
gle, would  not  respond  in  kind.  Above  all 
his  other  emotions,  and  mastering  them  all, 
there  came  upon  him,  as  if  with  her  touch, 
the  discovery  that  all  the  while  he  had  never 
fundamentally  retreated  from  his  original 
position  as  a  claimant  of  clearly  established 
rights  before  the  tribunal  of  the  world. 
Through  his  every  disappointment  with  its 
superficial  effects,  he  had  kept,  deep  in  his 
heart,  to  his  appeal  for  those  rights.  Even 
in  his  last  weak  visit  to  the  bishop's  he  saw 
now  a  hatred  for  that  frailty;  even  during 
his  employment  in  the  bank  he  had  not  gone, 
as  he  had  to  his  own  soul  pretended,  over  to 
the  enemy.  No,  the  choice  had  not  yet  finally 
328 


PROSPEROUS  ART 

been  made;  it  was  to  be  made  this  day  for- 
ever, and  it  was  Phyllis  who  was  pressing 
upon  him  the  issue. 

Apart  from  the  material  difficulties,  he 
reflected  that  to  concede  to  her  would  be  to 
concede  all. 

"  You  thought  as  every  one  else  did,"  he 
repeated. 

"  Only  for  a  little  while,  dear,  only  for  a 
little  while,  though  it  did  seem  years  to  me." 

He  looked  down  at  her  and  trembled.  He 
even  permitted  himself  momentarily  to  dally 
with  the  danger. 

"  Why,  from  your  own  point  of  view,"  he 
vainly  remonstrated,  "  it's  impossible !  Your 
world  knows  the  truth  about  me,  and  con- 
strues it  accordingly.  And  you  are  of  your 
world." 

"  No,  no,"  she  sought  to  assure  him.  "  I 
know  now  that  you  only  deceived  me  for 
what  you  thought  was  best.  But  I'm  afraid 
I  gave  you  a  wrong  impression  about  the 
others  knowing.  I  meant  only  the  bishop  and 
Mrs.  Osgood.  They  seemed  a  great  many 
when  I  didn't  know  it  at  all." 
22  329 


THE  THINGS  THAT  ARE  CESAR'S 

"  Then  the  others " 

"  The  bishop  said  you'd  gone  away  on  a 
long  trip — and  I  said  so,  too.  There's  an- 
other thing  I  didn't  mean  to  tell  you!  But 
you  see,  I'm  telling  you  now." 

In  his  heart  John  knew  that  he  loved  her, 
and  he  would  rather  a  thousand  times  that 
she  had  not  loved  him  than  that,  loving  him, 
she  should,  instead  of  offering  to  fight  beside 
him,  proffer  a  bribe  and  tempt  him  to  a 
treason. 

But  Phyllis,  changed  as  he  had  changed 
her,  was  still  too  much  of  her  own  faith  so 
much  as  to  suspect  these  shades  of  distinc- 
tion. For  her  it  was  enough  if  he  would  come 
to  her  and  could  come  above  the  doubts  of 
the  world.  She  continued : 

"  Why,  if  papa  takes  you  up — and  he  says 
he  owes  you  all  he  can  do — it's  a  mere  pay- 
ing of  a  debt,  dear — no  one  can  believe  a 
word  of  the  slander.  It  never  got  beyond 
mere  suspicion,  anyhow,  and  this  would  end 
it  at  once." 

"  Fealy "  began  John. 

"Oh!"  she  caught  at  his  thought,  "it 
330 


PROSPEROUS  ART 

hasn't  got  any  farther  with  the  newspaper 
people  or  the  bank.  The  newspaper  people 
can  easily  be  told  that  they  were  mistaken — 
that  papa  was,  too ;  and  as  for  the  bank,  Mr. 
Drake  was  to  be  here  this  morning  early — 
he  may  be  here  now — to  see  papa  on  some 
especially  private  business,  and  could  be  told 
almost  at  once." 

"  But  I  would  know  what  they  thought." 

"  You'd  know  what  they  thought  what- 
ever you  did;  you  knew  it  before,  so  far  as 
the  newspaper  was  concerned,  and  they'd 
think  far  less  if  you  did  as  I  ask,  John. 
Don't  you  see  that  they  can't  say  a  word 
about  it?  Nobody  will  ever  know — nobody. 
O  Jack,  Jack!  I  never  thought  that  I'd 
come  to  ask  a  man  to  love  me,  but  I  want  you 
to  love  me,  I  want  you  to ! " 

She  raised  her  lips,  but  with  a  mighty 
effort  he  regained  his  control. 

"  What  does  that  matter?  "  he  asked. 

She  released  herself  and  looked  up  at  him 
in  real  awe. 

"  Matter?  "  she  repeated. 

"Yes,  what  does  that  count!" 
331 


THE  THINGS  THAT  ARE  CESAR'S 

She  straightened  herself  instantly. 

"  Then,"  she  said,  "  you  want  to  tell  me 
that  you  don't  care  anything  about  me  1 " 

He  looked  at  her  longingly. 

"  I  care  for  you,"  he  replied,  "  more  than 
I  ever  did  before." 

She  gave  a  short,  small  cry  of  joy. 

"  But  then  why "  she  hesitated. 

"Because,"  he  annoyedly  explained, 
"haven't  you  just  said  that  you'd  engaged 
yourself  to  Payne !  " 

"  Oh,"  she  could  laugh  at  it  now,  "  what 
a  goose  you  are!  Don't  you  know  that's  a 
woman's  privilege  ?  " 

Considering  his  former  attitude  towards 
her,  he  was  marvellously  righteous. 

"  It's  nobody's  privilege  to  break  their 
word." 

"But  I  don't  love  him!" 

"  You  knew  that  when  you  told  him  that 
you  did.  Besides,  he  probably  won't  mind 
that." 

"  But  you  came  first,  Jack." 

"  Yes,  but  you  had  broken  with  me  when 


he  came  along." 


332 


PROSPEROUS  ART 

"  Well,  I'll  break  with  him  now.  I'll  write 
him  at  once — only  too  gladly." 

"  Yes,  '  too  gladly.'  But  you've  passed 
your  word,  and  you  haven't  been  released." 

"  It's  for  the  woman  to  do  the  releasing, 
please.  And,  anyhow,  Jack —  Oh,  you  don't 
understand  these  things !  " 

A  sudden  revulsion  swept  over  him. 

"  No,"  he  cried,  "  I  don't !  I  don't  under- 
stand it!  You  can't  love  me.  No  woman 
could  love  a  man  and  think  of  him  as  you 
have  thought  of  me.  I  don't  believe  that  I 
can  really  love  you,  after  all,  because  of  the 
way  I  have  had  to  think  of  you.  We  say  we 
love  each  other  now,  but  what  does  that  sig- 
nify? Only  that  we're  carried  away  by  the 
time  and  the  circumstances.  They  can't  last 
forever.  And  in  the  future  what  would  the 
memory  of  all  that's  dead  and  gone  be  to  us  1 
More  than  a  dead  memory !  No,"  he  groaned, 
"  it  can't  be !  I  wish  to  God  it  could,  but  it 
can't  be ! " 

He  made  again  for  the  door,  but  she 
would  not  have  him  go.  Like  every  woman 
who  has  once  flung  away  her  pride,  she  could 
333 


THE  THINGS  THAT  ARE  C^SAK'S 

not  have  recovered  it  had  she  so  wished.  She 
clung  about  his  neck  and  plead  with  him,  pas- 
sionately, incoherently,  but  persistently. 

He  would  not  be  moved,  yet  still  she  clung 
to  him.  He  shook  himself  free,  and  her  arms, 
as  in  that  early  vision  of  her  in  the  street, 
slipped  from  his  neck  to  his  waist,  to  his 
knees,  to  his  feet.  And  as  he  at  last  flung 
wide  the  door  she  had  half-risen  only  for 
one  parting  word: 

"  Grant  me,"  she  said  with  outstretched 
arms,  "  one  thing.  You  said  we  were  moved 
by  the  circumstances  of  the  moment.  Don't 
— don't  say  Yes  or  No  until  to-night  I  " 

He  looked  back  at  her,  hesitated,  rushed 
for  her  and  devoured  her  in  a  great  embrace. 
He  felt  that  if  he  gave  in  to  her  it  would  be 
not  because  he  wished  to  make  his  peace  with 
the  world,  but  because  the  world  offered 
Phyllis  as  a  prize,  because  the  hook  was 
baited  with  a  woman.  A  woman  once  more ; 
no  longer  the  only  one.  He  was  kissing,  he 
thought,  his  own  frenzy,  his  own  dream,  bid- 
ding good-bye  to  his  ideal  of  women,  but 
feeding,  at  the  same  time,  his  primitive  and 
334 


PEOSPEEOUS  AET 

even  stronger  passion  for  this  one  woman  in 
his  arms. 

Then,  with  her  question  still  unanswered, 
he  ran  out  of  the  room,  out  of  the  house,  and 
made  for  home. 

Home !  Eegardless  of  all  danger — ready, 
indeed,  to  welcome  any  battle  that  was  open, 
hard,  physical — he  almost  slammed,  but 
scorned  now  to  lock,  the  quivering  door.  Yet, 
once  inside,  he  paused  and  looked  about  the 
place  with  an  involuntary  shudder.  A  few 
square  feet  of  rat-eaten  floor;  a  dirty, 
draughty  window ;  a  miserable  fireplace ;  low, 
black  rafters,  and  a  rough  brick  wall:  this 
was  his  home.  And  that  still  form  upon  a 
disordered  mattress — that  was  its  only  other 
tenant. 

Here,  then,  he  finally  determined,  was  the 
turn  of  his  fortunes  at  the  last.  This  was 
more  the  cross-roads  of  his  destiny  than  ever 
the  day  he  left  the  jail.  Whichever  way  he 
turned  and  with  whatsoever  of  pleasure  or 
bitterness,  lie  was  now  sure  that  he  made  to- 
wards moral  defeat.  The  battle  was  over  and 
335 


THE  THINGS  THAT  ARE  CESAR'S 

lost.  He  went  to  the  pallet  by  the  window 
and  looked  long  and  searchingly  at  the  un- 
answering  features  refined  by  the  delicate 
fingers  of  death.  He  dropped  the  blanket 
and,  sinking  upon  his  own  bed,  tried  hard  to 
see  his  way — in  vain.  One  only  of  two  things 
remained  now  for  him  to  do:  to  curse  God 
and  die  as  Newton  had  died,  or  to  join  again 
and  forever  the  ranks  of  the  world  and  re- 
ceive forever  the  world's  golden  pay. 


THE   END 


336 


MR.  STOCKTON'S  LAST  NOVEL. 

Kate  Bonnet. 

The  Romance  of  a  Pirate's  Daughter.  By 
FRANK  R.  STOCKTON.  Illustrated  by  A.  I. 
Keller  and  H.  S.  Potter.  i2mo.  Cloth,  $1.50, 

"A  capital  story." — London  Times. 

"  A  rattling  good  story." — New  York  Sun. 

"  A  sweet  and  charming  story." — Brooklyn  Eagle. 

"  A  delightfully  cheerful  book."— New  York  Tribunt. 

"  Most  ludicrous  story  of  the  year." — New  York  Journal. 

"Just  the  book  to  make  a  dull  day  bright." — Baltimore  Sun. 

"One  of  Stockton's  most  delicious  creations." — Boston  Budget. 

"Alive,  wide-awake,  bold,  hesitate-at-nothing  story. "-Boston  Herald. 

"A  bright  and  entertaining  tale  full  of  exciting  incident." — London 
Athenaeum. 

"  A  characteristic  blending  of  interesting  realism  and  absurdity." — 
New  York  Life. 

"  Full  of  love,  incident,  adventure,  and  true  Stocktonian  humor."— 
Nashville,  Tenn.,  American. 

"  Even  with  the  charming  heroine  in  tears,  the   reader  remains 
cheerful." — New  York  Outlook. 

"  Nothing  so  fresh,  picturesque,  and  amusing  has  been  presented  for 
a  long  time.'  — New  York  Press. 

"  A   story  of  adventure  written   in   Mr.   Stockton's   characteristic 
vein." — New  York  Commercial  Advertiser. 

"  The  funniest  part  of  the  story  is  the  serene  gravity  with  which  the 
author  chronicles  events." — San  Francisco  Argonaut. 

"  The  appearance  of  a  new  book  by  Frank  Stockton  stirs  one  to  an 
agreeable  flicker  of  anticipation." — New  York  Literary  Digest. 

"  It  is  charming,  and  no  one  but  Mr.  Stockton  could  have  written 
it." — JULIAN  HAWTHORNE,  in  the  Minneapolis  Tribune. 

D.     APPLETON     AND     COMPANY,     NEW    YORK. 


RECENT   FICTION. 


Heralds  of  Empire. 

By  A.  C.  LAUT,  Author  of  "Lords  of  the  North."  izmo. 
Cloth,  $1.50. 

A  story  that  tells  of  the  days  of  Charles  II,  of  the  refugees  of  Boston  Town,  of  Puri- 
tanism and  Witchcraft,  and  of  Radisson,  that  picturesque  adventurer  who  juggled 
empires  and  who  changed  allegiance  as  readily  as  he  would  change  his  coat.  There  is 
a  tender  love  romance  running  through  the  tale  that  reaches  a  satisfactory  conclusion. 
The  language  is  the  quaint  English  of  the  period,  making  the  book  all  the  more  charm- 
ing on  that  account. 

Deep-Sea  Plundering^. 

By  FRANK  T.  BULLEN,  Author  of  "  The  Cruise  of  the 
Cachalot,"  "The  Apostles  of  the  Southeast,"  etc.  Illustrated, 
izmo.  Cloth,  $1.50. 

Mr.  Bullen,  who  has  proved  himself  a  past  master  of  deep-water  literature,  afford* 
in  these  pages  a  series  of  brilliant  and  often  dramatic  pictures  of  the  sailor's  life  and 
adventures.  While  the  picturesque  enters  into  his  book,  he  deals  also  with  the  stern 
verities  of  fo'c'sle  life,  and  he  brings  before  the  reader  strange  and  bewildering  phases 
of  deep-water  adventuring  which  will  lay  firm  hold  upon  the  imagination.  The  thrill- 
ing experiences  that  the  unknown  sailor  faces  as  a  mere  incident  of  his  daily  life,  and 
the  hardships  he  encounters,  are  pictured  with  the  vividness  and  insight  that  the  author 
of  "  The  Cruise  of  the  Cachalot "  always  realizes  so  forcibly  and  inevitably  in  his  bril- 
liant pages. 

Many  Waters. 

A  Story  of  New  York.  By  ROBERT  SHACKLETON.  i  zmo. 
Cloth,  $1.50. 

"  An  exciting  tale,  and  its  hold  on  one's  interest  is  quite  magnetic." — Philadelphia 
Item. 

"  Written  in  good  newspaper  English;  terse,  dramatic,and  plunging  straight  ahead, 
with  none  of  the  sweet-scented  labyrinths  of  soliloquy  in  which  the  average  professional 
litterateur  halts1  to  rest." — Boston  Advertiser. 

A  Damsel  or  Two. 

A  Novel.  By  F.  FRANKFORT  MOORE,  Author  of  "  The 
Jessamy  Bride,"  "A  Nest  of  Linnets,"  etc.  i  zmo.  Cloth,  $1.50. 

_  An  officer  and  a  gentleman  and  a  Napoleon  of  finance  are  two  types  contrasted  in 
this  interesting  story  of  modern  London,  suggesting  some  of  the  "promotions"  and 
consequent  entanglements  of  recent  years  and  involving  a  tale  of  love  and  loyal  friend- 
ship. 

D.    APPLETON     AND     COMPANY,     NEW    YORK. 


RECENT  FICTION. 


The  Man  Who  Knew  Better. 

By  T.  GALLON,  tuthor  of  "Tatterley,"  etc.  Illustrated  by 
Gordon  Browne.  8vo.  Cloth,  {1.50. 

"The  best  Christinas  story  that  has  appeared  since  the  death  of  Charles 
Dickens.  .  .  .  It  is  an  admirably  written  story,  and  merits  warm  welcome  and 
broad  recognition." — Baltimore  Sun. 

Under  the  Skylights. 

Jy  HENRY  B.  FULLER,  author  of  "The  Chevalier  of  Pensicri- 
Vani,"  "The  Cliff  Dwellers,"  etc.  I  zmo.  Deckle  edge,  gilt 
top,  1 1. so. 

The  charming  humor,  delightful  flavor,  and  refined  quality  of  Mr.  Fuller's 
work  impart  a  peculiar  zest  to  this  subtly  satirical  picture  of  the  extraordinary 
vicissitudes  of  arts  and  letters  in  a  Western  metropolis. 

The  Apostles  of  the  Southeast. 

By  FRANK  T.  BULLEN,  author  of  "The  Cruise  of  the  Cachalot," 
"Idyls  of  the  Sea,"  etc.  I2mo.  Cloth,  $1.50. 

"  Mr.  Bullen  writes  with  a  sympathy  and  pathetic  touch  rare  indeed.  His 
characters  are  living  ones,  his  scenes  full  of  life  and  realism,  and  there  is  not  a 
page  in  the  whole  book  which  is  not  brimful  of  deepest  interest." — Phila- 
delphia Item. 

The  Alien. 

By  F.  F.  MONTRESOR,  author  of  "  Into  the  Highways  and 
Hedges,"  etc.  izmo.  Cloth,  $1.50. 

''  May  be  confidently  commended  to  the  most  exacting  reader  as  an  absorb- 
ing story,  excellently  told." — Kansas  City  Star. 

While  Charlie  Was  Away. 

By  Mrs.  POULTNEY  BIGELOW.     i6mo.     Cloth,  75  cents. 

MB.  Bigelow  tells  a  wonderfully  vivid  story  of  a  woman  in  London  "smart" 
life  whose  hunger  for  love  involves  her  in  perils,  but  finds  a  true  way  out  in 
the  end. 

D.     APPLETON     AND     COMPANY,     NEW    YORK. 


RECENT  FICTION. 


A  Nest  of  Linnets. 

By  F.  FRANKFORT  MOORE,  author  of  "The  Jessamy  Bride," 
"A  Gray  Eye  or  So,"  etc.  Illustrated,  izmo.  Cloth,  $1.50. 
"That  'A  Nest  of  Linnets  *  is  bright,  clever,  and  well  written  follows  as  a 
matter  of  course,  considering  that  it  was  written  by  F.  Frankfort  Moore." — 
Philadelphia  Telegraph. 

The  Eternal  City. 

By  HALL  CAINK,  author  of  "The  Christian,"  "The  Manx- 
man," "The  Bondman/*  "The  Deemster,"  etc.  izmo. 
Cloth,  $1.50. 

"  A  powerful  novel,  inspired  by  a  lofty  conception,  and  carried  out  with 
unusual  force.  It  is  the  greatest  thing  that  Hall  Caine  has  ever  attempted."— 
Brooklyn  Eagfe. 

The  Teller. 

By  EDWARD  NOYES  WESTCOTT,  author  of  "David  Harum." 
Illustrated,  izmo.  Cloth,  $1.00. 

The  publishers  of  "David  Harum"  have  the  pleasure  of  presenting  the 
only  other  story  written  by  the  lamented  Edward  Noyes  Westcott.  Mr.  West- 
cott's  business  life  lay  with  practical  financial  matters,  and  in  "The  Teller"  he 
has  drawn  upon  his  knowledge  of  life  in  a  bank. 

When   Love   Flies  Out   o'   the  Win- 
dow. 

By  LEONARD  MERRICK.     I  zmo.     Cloth,  $1.00  ;  paper,  50  cents. 
"The  attention  of  the  reader  is  held  from  start  to  finish,  because  the  whole 
plot  is  original,  and  one  can  not  tell  what  is  going  to  happen  next." — Wash- 
ington Times. 

The  Beleaguered  Forest. 

By  ELIA  W.  PEATTIE.     i  zmo.     Cloth,  $1.50. 

"'The  Beleaguered  Forest'  is  not  a  novel — it  is  a  romance;  it  is  not  a 
romance — it  is  a  poem." — Chicago  Post. 

D.      APPLETON     AND     COMPANY,     NEW     YORK. 


RECENT  FICTION. 


Some  Women  I  have  Known. 

By  MAARTEN  MAARTENS,  author  of  "God's  Fool,"  etc.  With 
Frontispiece.  I  zmo.  Cloth,  £1.50. 

"  Maartcn  Maartens  stands  head  and  shoulder*  above  the  average  novelist 
of  the  day  in  intellectual  subtlety  and  imaginative  power." — Batten  Beacon. 

The  Wage  of  Character. 

By  JULIEN  GORDON,  author  of  "  Mrs.  Clyde,"  etc.  With  Por- 
trait, izmo.  Cloth,  £1.25. 

Julien  Gordon's  new  novel  is  a  story  of  the  world  of  fashion  and  intrigue, 
written  with  an  insight,  an  epigrammatic  force,  and  a  realization  of  the  dra- 
matic and  the  pathetic  as  well  as  more  superficial  phases  of  life,  that  stamp  the 
book  as  one  immediate  and  personal  in  its  interest  and  convincing  in  its  appeal 
to  the  minds  and  to  the  sympathies  of  readers. 

The  Quiberon  Touch. 

A  Romance  of  the  Sea.  By  CYRUS  TOWN«FND  BRADY,  author  of 
"  For  the  Freedom  of  the  Sea,"  "  The  Grip  of  Honor,"  etc. 
With  Frontispiece.  1 2mo.  Cloth,  £1.50. 

"  This  story  has  a  real  beauty  ;  it  breathes  of  the  sea.  Fenimore  Cooper 
would  not  be  ashamed  to  own  a  disciple  in  the  school  of  which  he  was  master 
in  these  descriptions  of  the  tug  of  war  as  it  was  in  the  eighteenth  century  between 
battle-ships  under  sail." — Nfw  York  Mail  and  Exfrtu. 

Shipmates. 

A  Volume  of  Salt -Water  Fiction.  By  MORGAN  ROBERTSON. 
author  of  "  Masters  of  Men,"  etc.  With  Frontispiece.  12 mo. 
Cloth,  $1.50. 

When  Mr.  Robertson  writes  of  the  sea,  the  tang  of  the  brine  and  the  snap 
of  the  sea-breeze  are  felt  behind  his  words.  The  adventures  and  mysteries  of 
sea  life,  the  humors  and  strange  complications  possible  in  yachting,  the  inner 
tragedies  of  the  foks'l,  the  delightful  adventures  of  Finnegan  in  war,  and  the 
original  developments  in  the  course  of  true  love  at  sea,  are  among  the  vivid 
pictures  that  make  up  a  volume  so  vital  in  its  interests  and  dramatic  in  its  situa- 
tions, so  delightful  in  its  quaint  humor  and  so  vigorous  and  stirring  throughout, 
that  it  will  be  read  by  sea  lovers  for  its  full  flavor  of  the  sea,  and  by  others  as  a 
refreshing  tonic. 

D.      APPLETON      AND      COMPANY,     NEW     YORK. 


BOOKS  BY  C  C  HOTCHKISS 


The  Strength  of  the  Weak. 

I  zmo.      Cloth,  $1.50. 

The  delightful  outdoor  quality  of  Mr.  Hotchkiss's  novel  forms  a  charming 
accompaniment  to  the  adventurous  happenings  of  the  romance  The  author 
has  found  some  apt  suggestions  in  the  diary  of  a  soldier  of  the  New  Hampshire 
Grants,  and  these  actual  experiences  have  been  utilized  in  the  development  of 
the  tale.  The  story  is  one  of  love  and  daring  and  American  courage,  and  the 
varying  outdoor  scenes  which  succeed  each  other  as  the  tale  unfolds  provide  a 
picturesqueness  and  zest  which  show  the  increasing  power  of  an  author  whose 
previous  books  have  won  for  him  a  large  circle  of  admirers. 

Betsy  Ross. 

A  Romance  of  the  Flag.      I  zmo.      Cloth,  $  i .  50. 

"A  novelized  drama,  and  a  right  good  one,  too,  with  plenty  of  stir,  patriot- 
ism, and  love." — Neio  fork  World. 

11 '  Betsy  Ross '  reaches  the  American  ideal  in  fiction.  It  is  the  long- 
?ooked-for  American  novel.  Stirring,  intense,  dealing  with  great  native 
characters,  and  recalling  some  of  the  noblest  incidents  connected  with  our 
national  history,  it  is  the  one  novel  of  the  time  that  fulfills  the  ideal  that  we 
had  all  conceived,  but  no  one  had  before  accomplished." — Philadelphia  Item. 

In  Defiance  of  the  King. 

I  zmo.      Cloth,  $1.00;  paper,  50  cents. 

"  As  a  love  romance  it  is  charming,  while  it  is  filled  with  thrilling  adventure 
and  deeds  of  patriotic  daring." — Boston  Advertiser. 

"  A  remarkable  good  story.  .  .  .  The  heart  beats  quickly,  and  we  feel 
ourselves  taking  a  part  in  the  exciting  scenes  described,  the  popular  breeze  seizes 
upon  us  and  whirls  us  away  into  the  tumult  of  war." — Chicago  Evening  Past. 

A  Colonial  Free-Lance. 

I  zmo.      Cloth,  $1.00;  paper,  50  cents. 

"  A  fine,  stirring  picture  of  the  period,  full  of  brave  deeds,  startling  though 
not  improbable  incidents,  and  of  absorbing  interest  from  beginning  to  end." — 
Boston  Transcript. 

"  A  brave,  moving,  spirited,  readable  romance.  Every  one  of  his  pages  is 
aglow  with  the  fire  of  patriotism,  the  vigor  of  adventure,  and  the  daring  of 
reckless  bravery." — Washington  Times. 

D.    APPLETON     AND     COMPANY,     NEW    YORK. 


BOOKS  BY  FRANK  T.  BULLEN. 
Deep-Sea  Plunderings. 

Illustrated,     izmo.     Cloth,  $1.50. 

Mr.  Bullen,  who  has  proved  himself  a  past  master  of  deep-water  litera- 
ture, affords  in  these  pages  a  series  of  brilliant  and  often  dramatic  pictures 
of  the  sailor's  life  and  adventures.  While  the  picturesque  enters  into  his 
book,  he  deals  also  with  the  stern  verities  of  fo'c'sle  life,  and  he  brings 
before  the  reader  strange  and  bewildering  phases  of  deep-water  adventuring 
which  will  lay  firm  hold  upon  the  imagination. 

The  Apostles  of  the  Southeast. 

i  2  m<>.     Cloth,  $1.50. 

"  Mr.  Bullen's  characters  are  living  ones,  his  scenes  full  of  life  and  real- 
ism, and  there  is  not  a  page  in  the  whole  book  which  is  not  brimful  of 
deepest  interest." — Philadelphia  Item. 

The  Log  of  a  Sea-Waif. 

Being  Recollections  of  the  First  Four  Years  of  my  Sea 
Life.     Illustrated.     i2mo.     Cloth,  $1.50. 

"  So  strong,  original,  and  thrilling  as  to  hold  captive  the  attention  of 
the  mature  as  well  as  of  the  youthful  reader. " — Philadelphia  Public  Ledger. 

The  Cruise  of  the  Cachalot, 

Round  the  World  after  Sperm  Whales.   Illustrated.   i2mo. 
Cloth,  $1.50. 

14  It  is  immense — there  is  no  other  word.  I've  never  read  anything  that 
equals  it  in  its  deep-sea  wonder  and  mystery,  nor  do  I  think  that  any  book 
before  has  so  completely  covered  the  whole  business  of  whale-fishing,  and,  at 
the  same  time,  given  such  real  and  new  sea  pictures.  I  congratulate  you  most 
heartily.  It's  a  new  world  you've  opened  the  door  to." — Rudyard  Kipling. 

Idylls  of  the  Sea. 

i2mo.     Cloth,  $1.25. 

"  Amplifies  and  intensifies  the  picture  of  the  sea  which  Mr.  Bullen  had 
already  produced.  .  .  .  Calm,  shipwreck,  the  surface  and  depths  of  the  sea, 
the  monsters  of  the  deep,  superstitions  and  tales  of  the  sailors — all  find  a 
place  in  this  strange  and  exciting  book." — Chicago  Times-Herald. 

D.     APPLETON    AND     COMPANY,     NEW    YORK. 


RECENT   FICTION. 


The  Way  of  Escape. 

By  GRAHAM  TRAVERS  (Margaret  Todd,  M.  D.),  author 
of  "  Mona  Maclean,"  "  Windyhaugh,"  etc.  i2mo.  Cloth, 
$1.50. 

1  A  classic."— Philadelphia  Item. 

'  Exceptionally  good." — New  York  Tribune. 

'  Undeniably  clever." — London  Literary  World. 

1  Strong  in  dramatic  incident. " — Boston  Budget. 

'A  work  of  unusual  power." — Chicago  Record-Herald. 

1  Vera  is  a  marvellous  piece  of  womanhood." — London  Star. 

Those  Delightful  Americans. 

By  Mrs.  EVERARD  COTES  (Sara  Jeannette  Duncan), 
author  of  "An  American  Girl  in  London,"  "A  Voyage 
of  Consolation,"  etc.  i2mo.  Cloth,  $1.50. 

"A  particularly  clever  and  amusing  book." — New  York  Sun. 

"  Full  of  clever,  humorous,  oftentimes  subtle  insights  into  the  American 
character. " — Chicago  Record-Herald. 

My  Captive. 

By  J.  A.  ALTSHELER,  author  of  "The  Wilderness 
Road,"  "In  Circling  Camps,"  etc.  i2mo.  Cloth,  $1.25. 

"A  spirited  and  interesting  narrative." — Philadelphia  Press. 

"A  mightily  interesting  little  tale  of  the  Revolution.  .  .  .  By  all  odds  the 
cleverest  tale  Mr.  Altsheler  has  written." — Philadelphia  Item. 

The  Outlaws. 

A  Story  of  the  Building  of  the  West.  By  LE  ROY 
ARMSTRONG.  i2mo.  Cloth,  $1.25. 

"  Promises  well  for  the  literary  career  of  its  author." — Philadelphia  Press. 
"Full  of  life  and  picturesqueness,  spirited  and  brimming  with  incident 
and  character." — Brooklyn  Eagle. 

T'  Bacca  Queen. 

By  T.  WILSON  WILSON.  i2mo.  Cloth,  $1.00 ;  paper, 
50  cents. 

"  Human  passions  are  depicted  with  a  vividness  amounting  to  a  triumph 
for  the  author,  and  the  novelty  of  the  plot,  the  strength  of  the  characters  in 
the  book,  and  its  forceful  style  will  appeal  strongly  to  the  reader." — Cleve- 
land World. 

D.     APPLETON     AND     COMPANY,    NEW    YORK. 


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